Blacklisted
by Resa Aureus
Summary: Imagine a world where Voldemort is triumphant and Harry is pronounced dead following their confrontation in the Dark Forest. The Wizarding World is in chaos, the new Minister a mysterious masked man who plays spokesperson for the Dark Lord. An unexpected hero takes up the cursed torch as spy. Book One in The Map of Our Ruin Trilogy.
1. Prologue: In Which A Hero Dies

A/N. *cough cough* Alright. Ahem. Let's set the scene.

Voldemort is triumphant. Kingsley, the would-be Minister, is in Azkaban. Harry stayed dead when he faced Voldemort. Everyone is dead that is supposed to be dead with the exception of Fred and Amelia Bones and a few very specific Death Eaters. The Wizarding world is on their knees before Voldemort and his right hand man, his spokesperson and new Minister, Mr. Snow. There are rumors that Voldemort is weak, but nothing is confirmed as he hasn't been seen since he won the Battle at Hogwarts. Lucius Malfoy never truly defected and is still on Voldemort's side – after all, he's going to side with whoever's winning, it's in his nature.

Yes, this is very AU. But I also plan it to be a trilogy.

YES, I realize that "Mr. Snow" is similar (the same) as the Hunger Game's trilogy, but I wrote a novel a year before the Hunger Games with the villain by that name – so obviously Ms. Collins doesn't have superiority on that name, haha. I honestly don't care very much about that.

…~oOo~…

Prologue: In Which a Hero Dies

The Shrieking Shack is dim and musty. Breathing in means filling your lungs with dust.

Draco is pale and grimy. He's panting and panicking, pressing his hands into his godfather's throat.

Severus Snape is bloody and dying. But after a few potions, he's bought himself mere minutes with the only boy who'd ever been anything like a son to him.

"You…must run," Snape rasped, his voice gurgling.

Draco was shaking his head, tears welling up in his grey eyes. "No. Mother and Father are already running. I'm not leaving without you. Vol- Voldemort won. I can't leave you here at his mercy."

"I am dead…anyway…" Severus took a painful breath. The potion was stitching up the gaping wounds, but the venom was moving rapidly through his veins. He had only a few more moments. "Does… Riddle know…you've defected?"

Slowly, Draco shook his head. "He was busy giving his victory speech and executing a few Muggle-borns when we started running."

Severus closed his eyes for a moment. What horrors… everything he'd worked against…

"Draco…" he said, weakly gripping the young man's wrist, streaking his milk pale skin with red. "Will you… fight this fight? With… with the Light, instead of against it?"

It took only a second for Draco to nod. His godfather was dying. Severus gave his life for the cause, the least Draco could do was not let his death be in vain.

"They will use you," Severus warned grimly, his raspy voice dropping. "They will use you… the same way they used me."

Draco sniffled, hating to see the strongest man he knew so broken. "I can… I can do that. I can be used."

"Find a beacon…" Severus told him sagely. "Something…someone…to dedicate your fight to. It's the only way… to survive. If you have something to hold on to… above all else…you'll always have reason to keep fighting." Then Severus gave a violent shudder.

"Professor?" Draco asked, panic making the pitch of his voice raise. "Severus?" he blurted as his mentor began shaking even harder.

"I'll…be…with my own beacon…now…" Severus forced through his teeth, gripping Draco's arm a little harder.

As Severus released his last breath, Draco could have sworn he heard the word, "Lily".

…~oOo~…

~ So Long And Thanks For All The Fish ~


	2. Chapter One: In Which Hogwarts Reopens

A/N. THE NAME OF THIS STORY WAS INSPIRED BY **smashal**'s SUGGESTION FOR TITLES AND THEN WAS VOTED UPON AND CHOSEN BY MAJORITY.

This is the decision. This will be a trilogy – so prepare yourselves. I've decided each "book" will be twenty to thirty chapters long. I've decided to gift you all with the prologue AND chapter 1 right off the bat.

ALSO – this story was kind of inspired by my one-shot Unobtainable Happiness. The Draco spy thing was too delicious to abandon.

NOTE: Amelia Bones is alive. I know she was killed in canon, but… I'm obviously just giving canon a big "fuck you" with this story anyway, right? Haha.

Note that I've finally gotten over my hang-up about how Grimmauld is spelt and have decided to spelt it correctly from here on out. Just because.

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. Absolutely nothing.

…~oOo~…

Chapter One: In Which Hogwarts Reopens

"No, no, no, no!" she was shouting, the sounding of her screeching followed by loud rumpling papers and the smell of burning toast. "Oh! Bugger! No, no, no!" Then there was a loud bang.

Hermione Granger was obviously not having the best of mornings.

Groaning, Draco turned over on the couch, hoping to stifle the cacophony from the kitchen with a throw pillow. He didn't even know why he bothered trying to sleep anymore. It was just wishful thinking at this point – especially when Hermione bleeding Granger was always up at the arse crack of dawn, putting on the kettle that whistled like a drunken Irishman and loading up breakfast for the twenty-some refugees currently bunking at Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

When the sound of her infernal swearing – a vice she only indulged in privately when she thought no one could hear her – made it through the pillow and into his ears, he gave up. Draco stared at the ceiling of the sitting room. Whatever ultimate power landed his life in the hands of Gryffindors who couldn't cook or whisper must have it out for him.

He decided he was going to take this into his own hands. People – like him – were trying to sleep. Her racket wasn't helping anyone.

When he got to the archway leading to the kitchen, Draco found Hermione cracking egg after egg into a large mixing bowl with one hand while reading a folded newspaper and muttering to herself. He wondered how many pieces of shell she got into the bowl with how little attention she was paying to it.

The tea kettle was steaming, edging towards its obnoxious and off-key whistle, and he shoved it off the burner before it got its chance.

"Granger," he growled.

Her head jerked up from the paper, giving a jump when she noticed him standing there. "Oh… you're up early."

"I had no choice," he grumbled, still terribly sleepy. "All the blasted noise from the kitchen wasn't exactly conducive to sleeping." He slapped down the knob on the toaster, forcing the blackened bread out of it.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said, looking genuinely apologetic with her big brown eyes and worried crinkle between her eyebrows. "I- I didn't mean to wake you."

"Of course you didn't," Draco said curtly. "You never mean to, and yet you always do. What the hell was all that yelling about?"

"This article!" Hermione, eyes alight with anger, shoved the newspaper into his hands.

Draco looked at the front page. The headline was enough to understand why Hermione had been swearing.

_Hogwarts Opens Its Doors For The New School Year!_

_New Headmaster Yet to be Revealed_

"It's awful, isn't it?" Hermione went on, her face screwed into worry, pinching her face so much that she looked like an old lady at twenty years old.

Draco nods. "This isn't good, I'll give you that."

"Those kids will all be at the mercy of whatever Death Eater nut job the governors appoint," Hermione lamented, hugging her arms around her stomach. "The Carrows will be back there, for sure. Those poor kids!"

"We'll have a meeting about this," Draco assured her. "You should talk to Percy about it. He'll be able to organize a gathering quickly enough." He dropped his hand with the paper down to his side and stared at Hermione. "Why are you cracking more than a dozen eggs?"

"I'm making scrambled eggs for everyone," she said. "Why?"

"Because you'll want to fish out all those shells," Draco said, pointing in the bowl. "They're refugees, but they shouldn't eat like prisoners."

Her scowl deepened. "I resent your implications that my food is less than –"

"Eggs aren't supposed to be crunchy, Granger," Draco huffed, cutting her off. "Please, just… fish out the shells, will you? And keep it down. I plan on getting at least another twenty minutes of sleep before you Order fanatics start showing up."

"I'll get you some Dreamless Sleep," Hermione said, rushing to the potions cupboard.

"Forget about it," Draco said. He'd gotten addicted to the stuff the year prior and had to pull himself out of it. He wasn't able to wake up for emergencies or when his Mark burned, and that had proven to be a problem. He was going to remove temptation completely. "I'll just count sheep," he added snarkily and started towards the sitting area.

"Malfoy, you don't have to sleep on the couch," Hermione said, sounding concerned. "Breakfast won't be served for another two hours and I'll be down here. Go up and use my bed to get some decent sleep until Percy shows up, alright?"

"I don't need your charity, Granger," Draco sneered. Even if the sound of a real bed was heavenly and he was so grateful he could have hugged her.

"Please, Draco," Hermione urged. "I feel awful. I woke you up and ever since we took in Madam Bones, all the rooms have been taken… Just go up. It's on the third floor, second door on the right. The bathroom is right across the hall and if you need some pajamas I have some of H-Harry's old things in the top drawer."

It was almost painful for him to watch her stutter over the Boy Who Died's name. If she was going to offer her the pajamas of her dead best friend, forcing herself to say his name and bring back every terrible memory she had, then the least he could do was sleep in her fucking bed for two hours.

Draco nodded. He wasn't going to say thank you, that just wasn't how he worked. So he climbed the stairs of Grimmauld, ignoring Walburga Black's growls at him for being a blood traitor, and just barely made it in his exhaustion to Hermione's bedroom.

Honestly, he didn't even have the energy to change his clothes. He tossed off his shirt, slipped off his socks and fell face first horizontally onto the bed. Her blankets smelt strongly of bergamot and Earl Grey tea. And it was so soft. It was like dozing on candy floss, he thought dreamily before he dropped off into the land of sleep.

…~oOo~…

Hands clutching her mug of tea, Hermione watched on as the residents and refugees of Grimmauld Place dig into the platter of eggs, toast, and sausage. There were currently eighteen people living in the old house, not including Hermione and the Order members who only stayed over occasionally. Also, Draco refused to be considered a resident even though he slept on the sofa nearly every night.

Grimmauld Place was just one home on a network of refuges for those on Voldemort's Black List. There were currently four refuges in England, all secret-kept. Number 12 Grimmauld Place, The rebuilt Burrow, Shell Cottage, and Dumbledore's childhood home Mould-on-the-Wold. The Lupins' cabin had also been part of the network until it was destroyed in a Death Eater raid led by someone who had put listening mirrors in the secret keeper's home.

During the raid, they lost a four of the people the Order was protecting. Andromeda, the secret keeper felt she failed them all – even though they knew she didn't betray them – and gave up on the task, leaving for France to hide and watch the French Ministry while leaving Teddy with Hermione. Andromeda said that there was no safer place than Grimmauld Place.

Teddy sat in his high-chair, two years old, squishing the eggs between his little hands and giggling manically. Hermione smiled lightly, along with the other people eating. Teddy was good for lifting their spirits – he was so young and happy and unaffected by the war.

"Good morning, 'Mione!"

In walked Fred and George, both looking very tired with circles under their eyes, but wearing their customary smiles nonetheless. As purebloods, they were safe from most of the new laws being implemented, and were free to run their business. But that didn't mean there weren't Death Eaters doing in inspections constantly and coming by to collect the new taxes days early.

"Good morning, boys," she said with a small smile, accepting the twin kisses they put on her cheeks. "Are you hungry? There's plenty to go around. Or maybe some coffee? Tea?"

"Coffee would be heavenly," George said.

"Same here," Fred agreed.

As Hermione set up the percolator, she asked, "Do you come bearing good news? Because I'd love for some good news."

"I wouldn't call it good news or bad news, but we've brought your mail," Fred said, slipping his hand into his jacket and pulling out a stack of envelopes on the table. Because Grimmauld Place officially did not exist on any records anywhere and the Ministry picked through everyone's mail, all letters were written in code and went to Fred and George's flat above the shop.

"And a toy for Ted," George said, holding up a little box with a handle and a star on the front. "Muggle toy, which makes it even more interesting. You twirl the handle, it sings, and tiny bloke with a hat pops up. Nearly gave Dad a heart attack when we showed him the first time."

"It's called a Jack-in-a-Box," Hermione said, grinning. "He'll love it, I'm sure. And it's great auditory stimulation and good for motor skills."

"You've been reading too many parenting books," Fred said, shaking his head. "Mum used to just sit us in the corner with some blocks and hope we didn't kill each other."

"Yeah," George agreed, "and we turned out just fine without all this new-age, meditating, breast-feeding-until-they're-ten nonsense."

Rolling her eyes, Hermione took the Jack-in-the-Box out of George's hands. "Thank you for the advice, but I think Teddy is developing rather rapidly with the schedule he's been keeping."

"He's two," George said bluntly. "He doesn't believe in schedules, and even if he did, he wouldn't follow them. It's called the Terrible Twos for a reason, you know."

As if on cue, Teddy chucked a handful of eggs with ketchup into Dennis Creevey's face with a loud, shrieking giggle. Dennis, the kindhearted boy he was, just laughed and wiped it off with his napkin, giving Teddy a smile.

"No, no! We do not throw food, Ted," Hermione said, standing in front of the little boy and looking stern. "Look at me. We do not throw food."

Teddy giggled some more like a small mad scientist. George and Fred exchanged a look. That kid would be absolutely brilliant once he got older.

"Even through two floors, that little monster's laugh wakes me up," said a new voice.

Fred and George frowned at the blonde. "Morning, Draco," they said dryly in unison.

"Yes, it is morning," was Draco's only reply, pouring himself a cup of coffee and taking a long swallow of it black even though it burnt his tongue.

Hermione was trying to coax Teddy into eating his eggs, who was just not having it. She made cooing and gooing sounds that made Draco sick to his stomach. Not to mention the ridiculous faces she was making. He knew she wouldn't stop until Teddy ate, so he rummaged through the cabinet, and grabbed the bottle of maple syrup. Without a word, he marched over to Teddy's high chair and squeezed the bottle over his eggs, drizzling syrup everywhere.

With a curious look, Teddy reached out, took a handful of the sticky stuff and shoved it into his mouth. He grinned broadly and started shoveling fist after fist into his mouth.

Hermione gaped in anger. "Malfoy! You can't just feel a two-year-old that much sugar! It's extremely unhealthy!"

"It's calories that he hasn't been eating, Granger," Draco drawled, not even bothering facing her as he went through the fridge. "Pick your battles. He's going to be in this phase for a long time. I went through six governesses when I was two, none of whom could handle me. This is how little boys work."

Hermione was obviously furious but all she did was not-so-subtly shove him out of the way of the fridge and filled Ted's bottle full of milk, glaring at him all the while.

"What are you two goons here for?" Draco asked Fred and George. He didn't say it meanly but he didn't say it nicely either.

"Mail day," George explained.

"And, hopefully, if Hermione's up for it, hair cut day," Fred said.

"Of course!" Hermione said, happy to do anything to help. She felt utterly useless being in the house all day, but no one in the Order was about to let her leave. Not when there was a bounty on her head. "I'll give you both a trim after I finish cleaning up breakfast."

"Don't worry about it," Amelia Bones said with a kind smile. "I'll wash the dishes and such. You do what you need to, Hermione."

Hermione blinked, shocked at the newest house member's volunteering. "Thank you," she said. "Very much."

"And I'll take care of Teddy," Dennis offered.

Hermione smiled broadly. "Thank you all for your help." She gestured for Fred and George to follow her.

Draco was well aware of the looks he was getting from the other residents. This was how it'd been for months, ever since Grimmauld became his "base of operations". He was leaning against the counter, knowing he was unwelcome at the long dining table, in his jeans and his wrinkled oxford shirt, rolled up to his elbows. If he wanted them to like him, he'd put more effort into keeping the Dark Mark on his forearm hidden, but he wasn't looking for admiration. Their respect and fear was enough for him.

The woman he knew to be Madam Bones, ex-Wizengamot member, spoke in his direction. "I know your father," she said simply, blowing on her tea gently. She sat on a stool at the table. At the sound of her smooth, low voice most conversation stopped to hear what the former head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had to say.

He arched a blonde eyebrow as he responded, "Most do."

"And your mother," she said simply. "I was in school with Narcissa. I was in Slytherin with her."

"You were a Slytherin?" Draco said skeptically.

"In my time, Slytherin was a house of ambition and cunning," Amelia said, slightly defensive. "It is no fault of mine that it's become power-hungry and a symbol for evil. I was quite proud to be a Slytherin. Still am. I just wish it had better direction."

Draco looked the woman up and down. She was a tall woman with a serious face, a square jaw, and closely cropped grey hair. He wouldn't call her attractive by any standards, but rumor what that she was one of the greatest witches of her time. Draco got what he wanted with his good looks, but she obviously earned what she had before becoming an invalid and one of the Dark Lord's "most wanted".

"Maybe once this is over, you could be Head of Slytherin," Draco said, not completely sarcastic. Part of him thought that Slytherin could learn from a success story that wasn't painted with blood. Someone worthy to follow in the footsteps of the great Severus Snape.

Amelia laughed quietly. "I don't expect to see the end of this war. I've narrowly survived two. And, as the saying goes, 'three's the charm'." With a cold little smile, Amelia rose from her stool and began collecting empty dishes to wash.

It must have been humbling. One of the most influential witches of the century, made to wash dishes.

Shaking his head, Draco rinsed out his coffee mug and left it in the sink before going up the stairs to take a cold shower to wake him up before going to meet Rodolphus Lestrange about an upcoming raid.

He'd gotten to the bathroom door when he heard voices inside. Stopping short of twisting the doorknob, he listened in.

"…can't," came the first voice. It was definitely Hermione's. She did that maddening thing with her voice where she was shrill, but whispering at the same time, so that she sounded kind of like a bent flute.

"He's going to find out," one of the twins responded. Then he let out a sound of reproach. "Hermione! I'm going to have bald spots if you don't start paying attention."

"At least she's getting her frustration out on your hair," the other twin responded. "Better you than me."

"Shut up, George," the other – Fred, apparently – growled.

"I just can't believe it!" Hermione hissed, her voice splitting through Draco's headache like a knife. There was the crisp sound of opening and closing scissors. "I knew he was a governor, but still…"

"In a sense, it makes perfect sense," one of the men said. "Lucius Malfoy is the perfect pureblood, blood-supremacist prat that Voldemort would assign to be Headmaster at Hogwarts."

Draco's eyes widened against his will as he listened even harder through the door.

"Are you sure, though?" Hermione stressed.

"I'm telling you. Nigel and Luna write down everything that comes through the Extendable Ears we've planted in the Ministry and Nigel distinctly heard that Malfoy would be Headmaster. And Luna backs him up on it."

There was a sigh. It was Hermione. "How will Draco feel about this? It's not enough that he's been risking his neck by spying, but now his own father will be running Hogwarts under Voldemort's orders. Whatever changes are going to make at that school this year, it won't be pretty."

"Can't be as bad as Umbridge," one of the twins snorted. "Old Lucius always seemed like a scared Pygmy Puff to me."

The other twin sniggered his agreement.

Draco's fists clenched at his sides, his jaw taut.

"It could very well be as bad as Umbridge!" Hermione snapped. "In case you're forgetting, Lucius Malfoy is the reason why your sister was possessed in her First Year, so will you both stop acting as if this is a game, I would greatly appreciate it!"

There was silence in the bathroom as the clipping of scissors continued.

"We need a plan," Hermione said, sounding determined.

"Seamus thought of a pretty ace idea just the other day –"

"We are not blowing up Hogwarts."

There was a long pause.

"It's like she's in our heads," the twins said in unison.

"No, I just know Seamus," Hermione said snappishly. "And Hogwarts has been torn down and rebuilt, we cannot destroy it _again_."

Draco was becoming impatient with listening to this conversation and frankly he just wanted a shower. He rapped on the door hard. He heard Hermione give a small yip of surprise before Fred and George in unison asked, "Who is it?"

"I want a shower," Draco answered, opening the door and glaring at the three of them. George sat on the toilet-seat while Fred sat on a stool in front of the sink and mirror while Hermione clipped away at his hair.

"Well, go on," George said with a grin, gesturing at the shower. "We aren't shy."

Draco's glare darkened. He was too tired and too annoyed to play Weasley Twin Games.

"Come on, mate," Fred said. "It's just like the Quidditch pitch showers… Well, except for Hermione, but she'll close her eyes."

"Fred, George, knock it off," Hermione said firmly. "Fred, you're about done. George, come on, I'll do yours on the back porch."

They left and Draco was left alone to consider the ramifications of his father's appointment as Headmaster.


	3. Chapter Two: In Which An Idea Is Born

A/N. As most of you know, my specialty is usually Hermione-centric stories. Hermione was my personal hero growing up, so I made her a hero in my stories. But now Hermione is taking a teeny-tiny step out of the limelight to make way for the main hero of this story: Draco. Or maybe they'll be kind of sharing the attention 50/50.

And most importantly… I am currently eating doughnuts at one o'clock in the morning. This is going to be awesome.

Obviously, I'm taking quite a few liberties with canon. Usually I like to stay as aligned with canon as possible, but this story is different.

PS. I've been asked recently by a reviewer about how I look and it got me thinking… how do YOU imagine how I look? I'm just curious – if my writing influences how you imagine me in your mind's eyes, if you imagine me at all. When I read fanfiction, I tend to have little pictures in my head of my favorite writers sitting at their laptops, typing away.

…~oOo~…

Chapter Two: In Which an Idea is Born

The walls were bare of portraits. It made sense only to Draco. His father never liked portraits, hated his own father talking over his shoulder in his study, being harassed by his great-uncle about Grindelwald's war, hated the general nattering of the dead. It made sense that in Lucius Malfoy's new office of power at Hogwarts, he'd banish the painting completely.

It was unfortunate. Draco would have liked having his godfather there for his meeting with his father, even if it was only as canvas. Severus Snape had a talent for knocking Lucius down a notch when he became too much.

Draco looked at the clock on the wall of the Headmaster's office and smirked. Ten minutes late for tea. Leave it to Lucius to be fashionably late to a meeting that he set in his own office. Draco paced along the wall of book shelves, scanning their contents. Then he spotted a title and gave pause. Giving a quick look around, he snatched the book off the shelf and tucked it inside his coat. He slid the entire shelf over to fill the space. Not that his father would miss it. Lucius never read much.

Draco examined his father's new desk which also happened to be Dumbledore's old desk. The young man scowled. Though he'd always been too swept up in coddling Potter, Dumbledore has never been anything but kind to Draco and seeing his place of power taken by Lucius wreaked of disrespect.

There was a time where Draco would have bowed at his father's feet had he been appointed at Headmaster, and boasted to all his friends on top of it. But that time was over.

The door to the study opened and in strode Lucius. He was tall, pale, with long blonde hair and piercing grey eyes. There'd been a point in the war where Lucius was falling to pieces, but he'd regained his respect among the Death Eaters after cleverly masking the fact he started to defect when no one was looking.

"Son," Lucius said smoothly, sweeping in, his cane smacking the floor with each step. Draco had used that can a lot during Sixth Year, but returned it to his father. "I've been looking forward to seeing you. Please, sit."

Slowly, Draco settled down into one of the chairs across from Dumbledore's desk where his father sat down. With a snap of Lucius's fingers, a silver tray of tea appeared on the desk. The tea pot floated and poured itself into the cups, mixing in just the right amount of cream and sugar.

Draco took his cup and sipped tea. His nose automatically scrunched. It didn't taste the same as the tea at Grimmauld Place. For some reason, magically brewed tea never tasted as good. But then again, Hermione had pretty much made herself a tea-brewing master.

Draco sighed. He never thought there'd be a day where he preferred anything Muggle to magic.

"I want to give my congratulations, Father," Draco said simply, sitting back in the seat and trying to get comfortable.

"Thank you, Draco, I must say I look forward to returning this establishment to its former glory with well-bred instructors and unlimited funding," Lucius said proudly. "Our student body will be improved upon, as well. All Muggle-borns have been crossed out on the rosters."

Brow furrowed, Draco inquired, "How does the Ministry plan on upholding the Statute of Secrecy when Muggle-borns are having increasingly powerful bouts of accidental magic in the Muggle world?"

"Draco, that is, of course, one of the first steps of introducing the world beyond ours that there is something greater than them," Lucius explained sagely. "Soon, Muggles will no longer be blind to our world and they will have no choice but to succumb to our superiority. Everything our Dark Lord has been working for will finally come to pass. It is very exciting, isn't it?"

Lucius looked at the clock on the wall and said, "Now, I'm afraid I have another meeting – an interview with a potions master. Are you absolutely sure you do not want the position, Draco?"

Draco's frown deepened. This was the tenth time his father was asking. Nothing would make him take that post. It would make him too much like _him_ – Snape.

"No, thank you, Father," Draco said.

"Fair enough," Lucius said, rising with his cane and starting towards the Floo. "Feel free to finish your tea. I will see you next week, same time for tea, yes?" And with a flash of green flames, he was gone from the study.

It didn't take a genius to know this was bad. Muggle-borns needed Hogwarts and Hogwarts needed Muggle-borns. Draco raced to the other side of the desk and began shuffling through the drawers a bit frantically.

The rosters. Where were they? He needed to find those rosters, make copies, and bring them to the Order.

He came across a very large stack of parchment. They were wrapped in red felt and when he looked at the top sheet, he knew right away that he'd found what he was looking for. After flipping through a few pages, he realized that each Muggle-born's name had a thin slash of ink through it, but their names were still readable.

Brilliant. There were only three Muggle-born students that were supposed to be receiving their first letters. They were the ones that needed to be found. The others were expelled but aware of their magic, so they could be easily traced through the Ministry.

Quickly inking a quill and jotting down the three names on a scrap of paper, tucked it into the pocket, and put the roster back to exactly where he found it.

With a handful of Floo Powder and some emerald smoke, Draco was gone.

…~oOo~…

The Order meeting had been going on for what felt like hours. Hermione had refilled the teapot six times. Frankly, she was starting to doze off, something Ron used to do often during long meetings. Hermione missed Ron dearly. He was off, traveling Eastern Europe with Krum, recruiting and she was stuck in Grimmauld, utterly stagnant, doing little more than playing hostess to the Order and refugees.

Scrubbing her hands down her face, she couldn't help but feel like her talents were being wasted. But this is where McGonagall, Arthur, and Percy all agreed they wanted her. Bill had fought on her behalf, saying that hiding Hermione would do nothing but put them at a disadvantage, but it was three against one. When Bill lost the debate, he consoled her by saying that she was their "Secret Weapon" – keyword being secret.

It was a nice thing to say and Hermione had appreciated it. But this "Secret Weapon" felt more like a hermit. She was being kept in Grimmauld Place the same way Sirius had been and had a taste of what it must have been like for him. Of course, she didn't spend twelve years in Azkaban for something she didn't do, but still.

Hermione was about to retreat into her subconscious when there was a loud slam of the front door and she gave a jump. Footfalls echoed loudly, getting closer and closer into the dining room. Draco entered, wearing his suit jacket and wrinkled Oxford shirt, his blonde hair rumpled and his face pinched. His grey eyes were lined by shadows and he was paler than ever.

Everyone stared at him, waiting for him to say something (everyone secretly relieved from the reprieve of the circles they'd been running in) and were not disappointed.

"Three Muggle-borns not receiving their first letters, exiled from Hogwarts, out in the world experiencing uncontrollable, unexplained magic," Draco said, holding up a scrap of parchment. "Part of the Dark Lord's plan to introduce the Muggle world to magic. But in the meantime, these kids are scared and in need of teaching."

While everyone else processed this information at a human pace, Hermione was still nothing besides extraordinary. Without even a second, she leapt up from her seat and snatched the paper. She looked at the names closely, teeth weathering at her bottom lip.

"Do you know the addresses?" Hermione asked.

Draco mentally smacked himself. "No, I don't. I can go back and look at the roster again, if you'd –"

"No, I don't think that's necessary," Hermione said with a smirk. "Owls are very intelligent creatures. I think they will know the way. Mr. Weasley? I'll have to borrow Errol, if you don't mind?"

"What do you plan on doing?" Percy asked, their overall voice of reason. The Order's Jiminy Cricket, if you may.

"These three children need a teacher," Hermione said, looking up with a definitive sparkle in her brown eyes. "I am going to give them one. Hogwarts sends out letters and so can I. All I have to do is invite these three children and their families over for lunch one day, explain what's happening, and invite them to stay for a school year and tudor them, get them to reign in their magic."

Everyone's eyes were wide.

"Miss Granger," McGonagall spoke up. "While that is a wonderful idea in theory, Grimmauld Place is at its maximum capacity. Taking on three more, children at that, would be… it would be inconvenient. This is also the headquarters for the Order. While it is the most safe, it is also not somewhere three eleven-year-olds should be poking around."

Thinking hard for a moment, Hermione practically exclaimed, "Mould-on-the-Wold! It's huge, with plenty of space for practicing and classes and boarding… And the other expelled Muggle-borns can learn there as well! Please, McGonagall." Hermione's big, round eyes were pleading. "Let me do this. I beg of you. These children, they need guidance, and I feel a responsibility to be the one to give it."

Everyone looked to McGonagall. The older woman seemed to be thinking deeply, her thin lips pursed and her eyes sharp.

"You cannot send the letters without… without the serum," McGonagall said tightly.

Hermione's brow furrowed. "What serum?"

"It's a special mix of ink that the Muggle-borns' letters are written in," McGonagall explained, shoving her spectacles higher on her nose with a finger. "Obviously, the notion of magic for most Muggles is… inconceivable. Once a Muggle reads the letter, written in the special ink, it allows them to… suspend disbelief, if you will. It makes magic seem not completely impossible and gives us instructors the proper window to influence the Muggle parents into allowing their child to attend the school and have Diagon Alley prove it for them."

"Of course," Hermione uttered, understanding suddenly. "No wonder my parents were so willing! They were people of science, magic was… it was unbelievable and I always wondered why they even bothered to take me to Diagon Alley…"

McGonagall nodded sagely. "Very good. The ink was created by Rowena Ravenclaw herself. Her inkwell sits in the Headmaster's office, I'm afraid. It is an endless supply, the bottle refilling itself each year. The inkwell is blue and the quill with it is black, from a raven." Her gaze shifted to Draco. "Do you think you could fetch us the inkwell?"

For a moment Draco seemed unsure. "My father may notice it missing."

Nose lifting indignantly in the air, McGonagall quipped, "Have you no faith in your Transfiguration professor? I do believe I will be able to whip up a worthy counterfeit." McGonagall peered over her glasses at Hermione. "If you are absolutely sure you are up to the task, then I do believe I can pass over this tremendous responsibility to you, Miss Granger. I will be at Hogwarts this year – Lucius will be keeping a close eye on me for Voldemort, I am sure – and will not be available to be at your beck and call."

"With a little help, I think I'll manage," Hermione said, determined.

"Well, then," McGonagall said, looking at Hermione with a hint of pride for her pupil, "Mr. Malfoy, I will have the forged inkwell ready by your next meeting with your father. Is everyone else in agreement that Hermione will tutor the Muggle-borns?"

Without hesitation, Arthur Weasley said, "I can think of no one more perfect for the job." He gave her a wink and a smile.

Slowly, Percy nodded, "With a few extra wards and a little more funding, Mould-on-the-Wold should be suitable. Bill, do you think you can discreetly take a few extra galleons from Harry's vault at Gringott's?"

"Consider it done," Bill said, fingering the key to the vault he wore constantly around his neck. Since Harry's death, they'd been tapping into his inheritance from both Sirius and his parents to pay for the refugees' food and clothes. They all knew it's what their scarred hero would have wanted, but they still set a monthly budget so they didn't burn through their funds before they saw freedom.

"Is there anything else you'll need, Hermione?" Percy asked.

Hermione was more than a little surprised. It'd been a very long time since they'd asked for her opinion on anything. Especially Percy, who was usually the one answering the questions. Not too many years ago, Hermione was the go-to person for almost everything. She had to admit, it felt good to have a glimpse at what that was like again.

"Wands," Hermione said, her shoulders shifting back. "Three. It's not as convenient as the wands choosing the wizard, but anything will do at this point."

Percy turned to his younger sister. "You hid the spare wands, Ginny. Are there three in the stash?"

Ginny thought back. "I think so. There's Tonks's, Remus's, and…" She chewed on her thumb, thinking deeply. "Was there a third? Most of them were broken or buried with their owners. Harry's wand is with his body in the attic… Ah! That's right. Narcissa's. Once Draco got his own back, and Narcissa had already acclimated to her husband's, Draco gave us the spare for safe-keeping."

"Perfect," Hermione said, checking off another box on her mental list. "Now… all I need are a few volunteers. Two, at least."

She looked out at the Order members. There were a dozen of them besides herself and Draco, and a few who were in hiding as Secret Keepers. Hermione looked at them hopefully, wringing her hands behind her back.

Watching on with almost as much anxiety as Hermione, Draco wanted to rattle half of the Order. He saw the doubt in their eyes, their lack of faith in Hermione. It made him irritated. If any witch could pull this off – essentially starting another wizarding school – it was Hermione Granger. She was the only one smart and hard-headed enough to make it succeed. They were fools for questioning her determination. She was a fucking Gryffindor, for Merlin's sake!

"I'll be happy to accompany you on this journey." The soft, dreamy voice was the first to speak up. Draco wanted to roll his eyes. Having Lovegood on board wouldn't exactly instill a great deal of comfort in the other members. If Loony believed in a cause, it usually wasn't something worth even trying.

But Hermione looked very grateful, if a little nervous. "Thank you, Luna. That means a great deal. Having a Ravenclaw would certainly be beneficial."

Oh yeah, Draco thought. Sometimes he forgot that Lovegood was Ravenclaw. She was always so silly-seeming that he mentally categorized her as a Hufflepuff, but apparently there were some brains behind all that blonde hair and freakishly large eyes.

Luna looked over at Hermione with a serene smile, her radish earrings dangling as always. She was wearing a pair of pink overalls, dirty at the knees, and a polka-dotted shirt beneath it. Her wand was tucked behind her ear, her hair in a loose braid coming apart down her back.

"Me too, Hermione," came the second voice. It was Longbottom. Draco should have figured as much. Longbottom was loyal to a fault and, he suspected, a little sweet on Luna. Draco tried not to make a snarky comment, something he was growing very good at. Neville beamed at Hermione. "Always wanted to be a professor. I figure this is my chance, eh?"

"Brilliant!" Hermione said, obviously relieved. She clapped her hands together and said, "Now. Do you two both still have your textbooks from school? Because if so, we can –"

"Count me in."

There was a length of silence as Hermione slowly turned around to where Draco still hovered in the dining room entryway. He was expressionless and showed no indication that he'd just spoken, but they'd all heard his cool, clear cut voice ring through the room just a moment before.

"Pardon?" Hermione said.

"You heard me," Draco said stiffly. "I want to be part of your little group of misfit professors. As you well know, I did remarkably on my NEWTs and received no less than ten OWLs. You'd be better for having me on your… team."

Draco saw her face slowly bright into a smile. He had no clue why and it unnerved him, but she said, "Okay. Yes, of course. Thank you, Malfoy."

Before Draco could come up with a response, the once-little brat Nigel Wolpert opened his mouth. "Hermione, would you mind if… I maybe sat in and learned a bit too? My time at Hogwarts was cut short and I don't feel very, er, useful when I only know Fourth Year spells and what H-Harry taught us in the DA meetings. It's just not enough for a seventeen-year-old wizard, you know?"

"Of course, Nigel," Hermione responded enthusiastically.

"Me too, then?" Dennis Creevey added hopefully.

The room became filled with chatter. Soft, but excited chatter. Draco heard a few of the Order members with children considering pulling them out of Hogwarts and letting them take this alternate route that Hermione opened for them. There was some whispering about Hermione's group being destined to fail.

Draco had to admit, their little "team" as he'd put it wasn't conventional. Half of the creatures Lovegood believed in didn't exist, Neville still couldn't tie his shoes without stumbling, and Draco himself was someone no one truly trusted despite his Unbreakable Vow with McGonagall. And for some reason everyone was walking on egg shells around Hermione lately. It'd been like that for months. They all looked at her differently and gave her the most menial of tasks. She was a glorified innkeeper and babysitter, after all. They weren't sending her out even for recruitment with her weasel boyfriend and Quidditch star ex-boyfriend.

For some reason they were keeping her locked away, and Draco had a feeling it was for something more than her being blacklisted.

…~oOo~…

~ So Long And Thanks For All The Fish ~


	4. Chapter Three: In Which Letters

A/N. So! Here we are, Hermione is opening a little school for the exiled Muggle-borns.

IMPORTANT NOTE: As of today, I have officially started saving for next year's LeakyCon. That's right! I'll be at LeakyCon (the American one), people! This year it is being held in Portland but I'm not sure if it will be in the same place next year.

I've already gotten a few emails expressing interest in meeting me at the convention and I was wondering, how many of you (even if it's only two or three) would like to meet me at LeakyCon next year? I'm telling you all now in case you'd like to save for tickets and airplane fees and things, because I know I need to!

…~oOo~…

Chapter Three: In Which Letters Are Written

"Five students," Lucius mused, his hands folded in front of him. "Five students, from varying years, are withdrawing from Hogwarts."

Draco mechanically formed puzzlement on his face. "Curious. Why is that, you think, Father?"

Lucius scoffed. "It's obvious isn't? Blood traitor families. Those unsatisfied with my appointment are taking their children's education into their own hands. A foolish thing to do. Their children will never be as powerful as they could have been under my tutelage."

"Their loss," Draco said, sipping his tea and hating the taste.

"True," Lucius purred, his ego sufficiently stroked. "I spoke to Snow about it. He said to let it be. In upcoming events, those refusing formal education will be left defenseless and weak. It will make things even easier."

Leaning forward, Draco schooled himself to seem eager, all the while keeping his Occlumency shields firmly up. His Aunt Bellatrix had taught him the fine art of Occlumency and he'd taken to it quite fabulously, as she'd told him. The last thing Draco needed was his father picking around his brain, or anyone else for that matter. He didn't even want McGonagall in his head.

"Father," Draco said, looking his father in the eyes. "You've been alluding to these plans for a long time now. I must know what they are and how I can help. I need to prove myself to the Dark Lord again."

"Right now, you need only worry about pleasing Snow," Lucius said. "I have not spoken to our Lord personally for some time, but he trusts Snow's judgment greatly, or else he would not have made Snow Minister. Anyone whom Snow approves of, the Dark Lord will as well. Which is a blessing and a curse. We get a fresh start with Snow – a second chance at a first impression."

"And the curse end of it?"

Lucius hesitated only slightly. "Snow's motives are never clear. He is… calculating and slow to approve of anything or anyone. Sometimes I have the feeling he is…" He shook his head slightly, seeming to clear it. "Forget that. Snow is the Dark Lord's second-in-command and the man we answer to. We must trust wholly in our cause, the Dark Lord, and Snow."

Draco nodded and internally seethed. The infamous Minister Snow not only angered Draco, but gave him the heebie-jeebies. The man was creepy, anyone had to admit that. He always wore a plain white mask, covering his face forehead to chin, and never spoke a word to the public. He always gave statements through his secretaries and seemed to pass laws in the dead of night without any warning.

There were thousands of rumors surround the masked man. Some said he was Voldemort himself, watching his minions in disguise hoping to learn their true intentions. Others said he was a son of Voldemort and would not show his face to protect himself. A few had people believing he was a vampire or Satan himself. But nothing was confirmed or denied and people learned to keep their heads down and not snoop, for the consequences were dire.

"I have a meeting with the Carrows today," Lucius said, rising from his chair. "They must be told how they will behave in my school. It will not be the same as when Snape was in charge, that much is certain. I am in control and I won't have them forget that." Lucius exited in his usual dignified, regal fashion.

It truly was easy. Draco withdrew the fake inkwell from his robes and snatched up the real one, trading it out smoothly. With a smirk to himself, Draco left as well.

…~oOo~…

Hermione was overwhelmed with excitement. Even in the shower, she could not stop herself from doing a little dance or squealing in intervals. Needless to say, her mind wandered so often and she was so preoccupied with planning and dancing with joy, her shower lasted a little longer than she expected.

When she stepped out, she was humming for the first time in years. She wrung out her hair, throwing it up into a messy, damp bun, and tucked a towel around her body. The bathroom was exceptionally steamy and the heat clung to her comfortably.

An idea hit her. For the school. She snatched up her little notebook that she toted around with her everywhere. She'd tucked it in her toiletry bag for the duration of her shower and was rewarded because she needed to immediately write down her stroke of genius. Too bad she forgot instantly once she saw the date.

July 31st.

Hermione slumped down onto the toilet-seat cover, all of her previous mirth draining out of her with a sigh.

"Happy Birthday, Harry," Hermione whispered, touching the date on her mini diary with reverence. Today Harry would have been twenty. No longer a teenager, truly a man. Her shoulders drooped as well as he head and she closed her eyes. "I'll make you a cake," she said, mostly to herself.

Dragging herself up out of her seat, she shut her little journal, her idea forgotten and dropped it onto her little canvas bag of bathroom things. She went to the sink and began to brush her teeth, her mind elsewhere. She thoroughly brushed every tooth, knowing her parents would be proud, and bent over to spit directly into the sink.

When she straightened up, the sight in the mirror stole Hermione's breath and her scream.

There, written in the fogged-up mirror, was one word:

HERMIONE.

She swallowed and composed herself. It was silly to be afraid. She was a witch, for goodness sake. Grimmauld was bound to be crawling with ghosts and trick mirrors. She was just surprised this hadn't happened earlier.

Plucking her wand from the bag, she held the tip of it to the mirror, her other hand gripping the towel covering her nervously.

"_Finite_," she uttered. Her name was still written there, plain as day. She cleared her throat and said, "Show yourself."

Below her name, letters started to appear slowly, like an unsteady hand was dragging its fingers through the motions sluggishly. Like it was difficult to do so.

C. A. N. '. T.

"You… you can't show yourself?" she whispered.

The mirror didn't answer. She took that as a yes. The mirror was running out of space because the letters were all capital and quite large. Thinking on a whim, she rushed to the shower, turned it on as hot as it would go, and let the showerhead spray. It took moments for the room to be absolutely filled with steam, the mirror writing covered, a blank slate once again.

"Why can't you show yourself?" Hermione asked, her voice becoming more confident. Part of her still wondered if this was one of Fred and George's magnificent jokes.

The writing began again, even more dragging and hesitations.

L…O…S…T…

"You're lost?" she murmured, chewing on her lip. Hugging herself around her breasts, drudging up the towel more. She wasn't sure what kind of ghosts hung around bathrooms (besides Myrtle, of course) but it felt a bit perverted, choosing the loo and watching girls and boys showering for the rest of eternity.

Finally, she got the guts to ask the burning question. "Who are you?"

There was a long pause before the entity wrote out its answer. And this time it wasn't words or letters. It was simply a squiggle, an unmistakable symbol.

A lightning bolt.

…

According to one of the women knitting in the sitting room – there was always women knitting in the sitting room – the last time she saw Hermione she was heading up for a shower. She'd left Teddy with the women. Draco smirked when he saw Teddy was sitting discreetly on the side of the sofa, the other end of Mrs. Abernathy's ridiculously long scarf in his little hands, unraveling it gleefully.

Draco would put money on that little brat being in Slytherin.

Walking up the stairs, Draco decided he'd just put the inkwell on Hermione's bedside but before he could get to the room, he saw steaming rolling out from underneath the bathroom door. He gave pause before walking over and listening closely. All he heard was a lot of running water.

"Granger?" he called out.

There was no response. She probably couldn't hear him over the water. With a frown, Draco felt a stitch of panic. That was more steam than he'd ever seen before, like thick, foggy clouds pouring out from the cracks in the door.

Making a decision, Draco twisted the doorknob roughly, finding it open, and pushed the door ajar.

He couldn't see much through the fog, but heard a small scream like a cat getting its tail stepped on and saw hands rubbing rapidly across the mirror, like she was trying to hide something. Once the steam filtered out, rather quickly, Draco got a better look. Hermione looked shell-shocked, clutching her towel around the dripping body, her hair frizzing everywhere.

"Malfoy!" Hermione screeched. "What in good heavens do you think you're doing?"

"What do you think you're doing?" Draco demanded, walking to the flooding tub, and reaching to turn the water off. He was splashed with the scalding water and yanked his hand back, hissing in pain. He looked at his hand, now beet red. He whipped his wand at the shower and it turned itself off.

"Are you a lunatic?" he snapped with wide eyes. "I walk down the hall, see steam pouring out of the bathroom, you wipe the mirror all shadily, and the water's hotter than a boiling cauldron?"

Hermione, eyes darting around frantically, looking for inspiration stuttered, "I know h-how this must look, but –"

"Do I need to tell McGonagall that the headmistress of an underground school for Muggle-borns is losing her mind and trying to boil herself alive?"

"No!" Hermione exclaimed frantically.

"Then bloody well pull yourself together!" Draco half-yelled. He took something out from his pocket and shoved it into Hermione's palm. "Remember. You're doing this for those kids. They'll be lost without you."

Something about that last part made her flinch as he said it, but he ignored it and stalked out of the bathroom, muttering to himself about idiotic Gryffindors and annoying swots.

Staring after him, Hermione's brow furrowed. Something about the way he was acting reminded her of someone… She just couldn't put a finger on whom…

…~oOo~…

_Dear Mr. Adam Nolan, _

_We are pleased to inform you that you have a very exclusive place at Granger's Private Academy for Young Muggle-Born Witches & Wizards. For further details about this extraordinary experience, please attend a special lunch orientation at 1 o'clock in the afternoon at the enclosed address. For privacy purposes, please do not share this address with anyone. We will be eagerly awaiting your reply. _

_Yours Sincerely,_

_H. Granger_

_Head Instructor_

...

"Granger's Private Academy for Young Muggle-Born Witches & Wizards?" Neville read out, looking a little cross-eyed as he said it. "Isn't that a bit of a mouthful?"

"Yes, and there won't only be Muggle-born students," Luna pointed out, her hands clasped loosely in front of her. Her blonde hair fell around her head, over her shoulders, and stopped at her hips. There were a few dead-ends and Hermione wondered if the young woman would let her give her a trim. "There are the students who withdrew from the school year as well. Susan's younger brother Thomas is a pureblood."

"It was started for the Muggle-borns, though," Hermione mused, tapping her foot in thought. "But I suppose you're right. What shall it be called then? For the sake of the letters. I can't say I fancy my own name being in the title, either."

"Who cares?" Draco inquired, leaning back in the chair, tipping it onto its back legs. "Does it matter? This is only temporary; it's not as if we're starting a real institution."

"You're right, Malfoy, but their Muggle parents aren't going to hand them over to a 'group of wizarding outcasts that need teaching' without sound slightly established," Hermione explained, looking down at the letter, thinking hard.

"Maybe we should name it in someone's honor," Luna chimed in, her voice high and light. "We've known so many who have died for the cause. We should name our school after them. Like Professor Lupin, Hermione. Didn't he save your life?"

Draco's ears perked up like a dog's and the front feet of his chair hit the ground. This was news to him. He looked over to Granger, whose eyes were instantly filled with tears. Her chin tipped down to look at her hands.

"He was one of the bravest men I've ever known," Neville agreed, nodding reverently.

Draco was perplexed. He knew everyone always talked about Remus Lupin as a hero, but apparently there was something more to the story. Something he knew nothing about. And he'd apparently saved Hermione's life.

What had Lupin done?

"Yes," Hermione murmured, lifting the raven quill once more and choosing a new piece of parchment. "Moony's Private Academy of Witchcraft & Wizardry," she said aloud as her quill scratched away.

Luna's serene smile appeared on her pale pink lips. "He'd quite like that, I think."

Neville nodded. "More than like it."

All Draco had to say was, "What's a Moony?"

They all stared at him. Neville finally said, "Wow. Do we tell you _anything_?"

Draco sneered. "Apparently not." _The Order only ever tells me exactly what I need to know – no more, no less – and only when they need to use me. _Before his fellow "instructors" told him the story, he rose from his chair and said, "I'm going to get some sleep. Don't bother me."

Watching as their moody Slytherin Counterpart left, Hermione fixed the letters and then sealed the envelopes with red wax. Errol tried nipping her hand a half-dozen times, but she distracted him with a treat in one hand and tied the letters to his foot with the other.

"Remember, Errol," Hermione murmured, "Adam Nolan, Chelsea Baker, and Yvette Lane. You'll find them, I'm sure."

Errol bit her one last time before clumsily taking off out the window.

…~oOo~…

Standing over the glass coffin, Hermione pleaded with her own mind to think. The rationale was lagging and the wild imagination sector was leaping and dancing.

Every bone in her body that still had hope was telling her that it'd been Harry speaking to her through the mirror. But Logic was whispering weakly that it could have just been any ghost floating around trying to freak her out. After all, Harry's scar was no secret. It was downright famous.

The glass coffin was cool under her fingertips. It was their beacon of hope, lying utterly untouched and protected. The body of their hero, wrapped in a hundred preservation charms, laid there like a fairytale book princess, eyes shut, glasses still on his face, wand cupped loosely in his hand.

Harry Potter was very dead. But none of the Order was ready to bury him. It felt too real, too much like defeat. Hermione wondered if their savior would rise one of these days and fulfill his prophecy. For now he was just a morbid and eerily beautiful statue collecting dust in the Grimmauld Place attic.

"It had to be you," Hermione whispered to the corpse, sliding her hand over the smooth glass arch encasing the body. "Somewhere deep inside, I know. But why now? Why contact me after two years? We needed you before. It's getting a little late for a miracle, you know."

There was, predictably, no response.

"I'll do a little research, Harry," Hermione said quietly. "If you are lost, I'll find you. I promise."

…~oOo~…

"Minerva, I need to speak to you about this little school that you're letting Hermione start," Molly Weasley said, looking displeased.

Gracefully sitting down onto the sofa at the Burrow, Minerva gazed at Molly with her usual unwavering stare and lifted chin. "I know you are unhappy, Molly."

"Of course I am unhappy!" Molly said, her face turning red and her eyes getting round and she plumped down into the chair across from the other woman. "Hermione shouldn't have to deal with such stress; she's been very delicate ever since –"

"I think you overestimate how delicate she is, and underestimate Hermione herself," Minerva cut in, not rudely. "She's a brilliant young woman, you know that. What she's doing is quite magnificent. And it was also her own idea."

Molly huffed. "She's a girl! She's not Rowena Bloody Ravenclaw, you know!"

Arching an eyebrow at the other woman, Minerva said, "Hermione is more than capable. The little… _hiccup_, a year or so ago, was inconsequential."

"Hiccup! You call that episode a hiccup!"

"I call it what it is," Minerva said, her voice tightening infinitesimally. "By doubting Hermione, you are insulting her intelligence and capability as a powerful witch."

"She almost took down Grimmauld Place!" Molly's voice raised an octave and Minerva knew her ears would be ringing later. Molly waved her hands dramatically. "And that was without any children in her care! She'll have fifteen in her school! I only have seven and half the time _I'd_ like to burn the house down!"

Minerva hesitated. "You're worried about the safety of the children." It wasn't a question.

"Of course I worry about the safety of the children!" Molly said snappishly. "Look at whose care they're in! Luna, for as nice a girl she is, is not completely _there_. Neville, sweet as a treacle tart, can barely finish a sentence before something dropping out of the sky and knocking him on the head. Hermione isn't exactly stable, and do _not_ get me started on Draco Malfoy!"

"And Salazar Slytherin was a racist, supremacist, sadistic tyrant. Helga Hufflepuff was a bit of a coward and an overbearing mother. Rowena Ravenclaw had power issues and agoraphobia. And Godric Gryffindor was a drunk who let his pride kill him," Minerva listed with precision. "I'd say, with upmost confidence, that these Muggle-born students – exiled and outcast – might just be in better hands – Founders forgive me."

Looking a little stunned, Molly couldn't quite find the words to respond to that. She'd never heard any of that before.

"There are some things, Molly," Minerva said, peering over her spectacles, "that history ignores so that our modern world might still have heroes."

…~oOo~…

~ So Long And Thanks For All The Fish ~


	5. Chapter Four: In Which Blood

A/N. Thank you, as always, for reading this. I know it's not everyone's cup of tea, AU stuff, but I'm glad those of you who are reviewing are enjoying.

Please, take time and write a review. Your words mean the world to me, good or bad. I live for reviews.

Those of you who have read my mother stories might notice that I have not started my customary Challenges at the end of each chapter. I've decided to hold out on these and instead pose questions in the Author Notes.

So, what are your theories? What are your thoughts? Favorite part/line so far?

…~oOo~…

Chapter Four: In Which Blood is Discussed

Drinking his coffee and leaning against the counter, Draco discreetly watched Hermione during her personal freak-out. It was the morning of the lunch with the eleven-year-olds and their parents. Molly Weasley was going to be doing the actual cooking at the Burrow and the meal would be at the Grangers' old house. It'd been Hermione's idea to use her home, it being in a Muggle area, to make their company more comfortable.

Hermione was frantically polishing her tea things. She loved that pot and those cups, Draco knew that. She was a little bit weird about it, in all honesty. Loved those tea things like they were her children.

"You scrubbed that same cup seven times, Granger," Draco drawled. "Something bothering you?" he added, deliberately sardonic.

Hermione scowled, huffing in annoyance. "What do _you_ think?" she sniped. "I still don't know how to tell three kids that they're wizards and then tell their parents that they have to be educated privately because a world they didn't even know of was in the thick of its third war in less than thirty years."

"Obviously we'll have to strategically omit some information."

Hermione nearly dropped the tea cup into the sink, but caught it last minute. "You mean _lie_?" she hissed, like it was a dirty word.

"There is a significant difference between lying and leaving out information," Draco said with confidence, bringing his coffee to his lips.

"Oh, that's just what you Slytherins say to make yourselves feel better!" Hermione said in frustration, putting the cup on the drying rack. She tossed her hands up and made a little growling sound. "I'm not lying to the parents of my potential pupils. That's preposterous."

"No, it's not. But you know what is? Telling a bunch of Muggles about the state of our world when we want them to trust us, not run away screaming," Draco said with a roll of his eyes. "And they say you're the smart one."

Hermione sniffed indignantly. "Frankly, Draco, I haven't a clue why you've volunteered to be part of this, anyway. You're busy enough and I know you have no interest in teaching. What's in this for you?"

Arching an eyebrow, his face a perfectly still mask of indifference, Draco said, "Who says I have no interest in teaching? We aren't exactly what one would call 'friends', Granger, and yet you claim to know so much about my interests and ambitions. For all you know, I could aspire to be the next Albus Dumbledore and spend a hundred miserable years enlightening young minds and picking favorites to hold above the rest. Coddling Gryffindors, offering them sweets, maybe even growing a ridiculously long beard." He stroked his chin, mockingly thoughtful.

Snorting softly, Hermione popped out a hip, planting a hand on it. Draco had to suppress a smirk. It'd been a while since he'd seen Hermione's true fighter, the side of her that was more than just a good little housekeeper, but a powerful witch with serious sass. It brought him back to his school days – a simpler age where getting a rise out of the swot was Number One on his favorite hobbies list. Getting her to cry had been number two and number three had been Quidditch.

And now, Draco could almost imagine Hermione in her uniform, her skirt always regulation length and her shirt buttoned to her neck, hand on her hip and snapping out an exceptionally clever retort and marching away, her perky nose high in the air.

The only real difference now was that she was wearing a ridiculous pencil-skirt, matching blazer set that she borrowed from Amelia Bones. Draco wrinkled his nose at the ruffled collar of the blouse underneath the bright green blazer and what he was sure were shoulder-pads. Fine for an older witch, but almost horrifying on Hermione.

He was drawn from his internal fashion critique by her voice.

"That's just absurd." Hermione quipped, "You would look just awful with facial hair." With a last superior look, Hermione dried her last tea cup and set it on the platter. "We'll be Apparating to my old house in fifteen. So go get dressed and such."

"I'm already dressed," he said.

Hermione's eyes whipped down and up his body once before saying, "You're wearing that?"

"I'm wearing trousers and a nice shirt. What do you want from me, Granger? Formal robes? A tuxedo?" he said snidely, straightening his collar in frustration. It was just lunch with a bunch of Muggles, for Merlin's sake, not the queen.

Hermione gave him a look that reminded him of his mother, which wasn't at all bad. In the safety of the Manor, when there was no need for protection, Narcissa wasn't afraid to take her walls down – especially for her son. This look that Hermione was giving him was one of Draco's favorites. The one she'd give him when he was young and they were going to a fancy dinner party and he'd wear something that didn't match or just wasn't formal enough. The purse of her lips, the spark of amusement in her eyes, and the gentle words, "It will do, I suppose."

"It will do, I suppose," Hermione said, which made Draco smirk. She'd probably freak if he told her that she was acting very Narcissa-like. "Now, Luna and Neville should be here soon. Wait for them by the Floo while I get the rest of my things."

Draco's nose scrunched up unattractively. "Why do I have to wait for Longbottom and Loony?" They were her friends. Why wasn't she waiting for them, dammit?

"Did I not just say I have things to do?" Hermione said, sounding very much in charge. "Go now so that you can let them through, will you?" With one more I'm-not-kidding look, Hermione practically sprinted towards the stairs.

Draco's lips tightened in thought. Something was weird about Hermione and he couldn't pinpoint exactly what. He wasn't even sure of why he cared so much. Maybe it was because this whole little Hogwarts the Sequel mission was balanced in the palm of her girlishly small hands. Maybe it was the fact that the Order didn't entirely trust her with something of this magnitude and it was starting to rub off on him. Or maybe he just needed something to distract him from his impending doom.

But like a subservient little puppy dog, he went to the Floo to wait for Lovegood and Longbottom.

What was he thinking when he agreed to this?

It was only five minutes later that he was letting Nargle Girl and Plant Boy through the fireplace and they were brushing off their clothes. Luna was wearing a yellow dress so bright that he saw spots in his vision for minutes after. Neville was dressed more like Draco – nice shirt, trousers, tweed waistcoat. Truly professor-like.

"Where's Hermione?" Luna immediately asked. No greetings or such. Luna spoke her mind and Draco could respect that if she wasn't also a little crazy.

Draco shrugged. "Do I look like her keeper?"

Luna blinked at him, not responding, just staring freakishly. It secretly made Draco uncomfortable, her gaze, like she was peering into his blackened soul, but he kept his cool façade easily enough.

"Doing whatever Hermione does," Draco said dismissively. "Think she went upstairs. She's been a bit mad all morning."

"Understandably so!" Luna said, nodding in sympathy. "Even Neville had horrifying nightmares from the stress." She patted the blushing Neville gently on the arm.

"I wouldn't call them horrifying," Neville muttered, hands tucked in his pockets.

"You were crying quite hard in your sleep, darling, it's nothing to be ashamed –"

"Hermione!" Neville nearly burst out, his face pink. "Why don't you find Hermione, Luna? Help her with whatever she's doing?"

"A brilliant suggestion!" Luna pecked Neville on the cheek before skipping towards the hall.

Draco smirked slightly. "So… how does she know you were crying in your sleep, exactly?"

Neville's face went from pink to scarlet. So, Plant Boy got laid. Where was the justice in this world?

Inwardly sighing, Draco dropped the subject and mentally counted how long it'd been since he experienced the comfort only a woman's body could deliver. When he realized it'd been so long that he couldn't even remember the fine details of his last romp, he wanted to groan and beat his head into the mantle. How depressing.

Despite his general air of bastardness, Draco could be a charmer. He could be charismatic. He could chat his way into a pair of knickers pretty quickly. But the time and place to exercise that skill was not Grimmauld Place – which was where the majority of his time was being spent anyway.

Of course, there were revels with the other Death Eaters. Plenty of willing witches – all fans of the Dark Lord, lured in by power – there, but he never indulged. His job was to observe and gather information to then take back to the Order. Revels usually provided a wealth of intel. Death Eaters were more eager to talk and more likely to let something slip when they were addled with alcohol and sex.

Draco hoped all of his eavesdropping and spying would be enough someday.

"Sorry we're a bit early," Neville said, breaking the silence. "Luna was too excited."

"Early?" Draco said, brow furrowed. "Hermione said you'd be here soon only a few minutes ago."

Raising an eyebrow, Neville said, "We weren't due here for another half-hour about."

Why would Hermione have sent him to wait for the couple if they weren't due for a while yet? Draco was getting more and more suspicious.

…

Since the bathroom mirror incident, Hermione had been hiding a stack of notes under her mattress. And every spare moment she had was spent reading. These tended to be the moments that Ted was napping or distracted and when the Order members weren't skulking around the house. She knew they were checking up on her – always dropping in unexpectedly. Drove her crazy, especially now that she needed solitude to do her research.

But she stole a bit of time. She sent Draco to watch for Neville and Luna even though they wouldn't arrive for a while yet and she was left to her own devices. She had enough time to find that passage in a massive Wizarding Encyclopedia that was supposed to have information on disembodied souls. Not ghosts, just… trapped souls.

Hermione was flipping rapidly through the thick text – knowing she was very spare on time – and finally found the page. There didn't seem to be a lot of information, only about three paragraphs, but she made a note in the margins, underlining important words with a quill. She wasn't thrilled with scribbling in a book, but it helped when organizing her thoughts.

"Well, that's a rather large book?"

Hermione almost jumped out of her skin, shutting the encyclopedia rapidly. In her doorway was Luna.

"Your door was open," Luna said.

Hermione wanted to smack herself. In her haste, she'd forgotten to close her door. What a novice mistake.

"Of course," Hermione said, trying to play casual as she slipped her book onto her bedside. "Is it time already?"

"Not quite," Luna said with her soft smile. "Neville and I just arrived a little early. I was anxious."

"Oh," Hermione said nodding. "What time is it now?"

"As the Muggle joke goes, time for you to get a watch!" Luna said with a giggle.

Hermione smiled, but she froze as the words set in.

_A watch_. Of course, a watch!

Shaking off her revelation and trying to remain casual while her insides jumped for joy, Hermione walked towards Luna and the door and said, "Maybe some tea before we go?"

"No, thank you," Luna said, following Hermione out of her room and back down the stairs. "I just had a cup before I came."

"Granger!"

Hermione almost had a heart-attack for the second time in ten minutes. And it didn't help she was on the stairs – she almost tripped and went down them like a sack of flower. When she looked over the banister and realized it was Draco barking at her, it didn't help.

"What?" Hermione snapped.

"You and I need to have a talk," he said curtly.

"And you need to not yell at me!"

"We'll talk in the basement."

Hermione huffed and took the last steps to the floor. "Everyone's in the basement having a mini Quidditch match."

"Then the kitchen. Now."

"Don't get your knickers in a twist," Hermione grumbled, gesturing for him to follow her.

Once in the safety of the kitchen, Draco demanded, "What the hell is going on with you?"

Hermione stiffened. "What do you mean?"

"You've been acting stranger than usual, Granger," he hissed, lowering his voice in both volume and pitch. My goodness, Hermione thought, he sounded scarily like his father that way. All silky, deep tones and piercing eyes.

She shuddered and then shook it off. "I'm just as strange as I've always been," Hermione said stiffly. "And I'm not that strange at all, thank you very much. I'd say I'm absolutely average."

"I can't ignore the way you've been acting," Draco said, staring her down, his jaw taut. "There's too much riding on this little academy. I can't, in good conscience, allow you to jeopardize the safety of these Muggle-borns."

"How dare –"

"You need to focus!" Draco said cuttingly. "And you can't keep hiding things! It could be dangerous!"

"You have no clue what I've dealt with," Hermione growled. "Maybe some of it, maybe little tales about the feats of the Golden Trio – but you don't know what I've been through and what I'm capable of. Rest assured that I will get help if I need it and that I would never consciously put anyone in danger."

"What about you?" Draco snarled. "What about the danger you pose to yourself? You Gryffindors are always putting yourself in the worst, most idiotic situations."

"Worry about _yourself_," Hermione said sharply. "Isn't that what Slytherins do?" She stormed off in the direction of the sitting room.

Draco was wound tight with tension and wanted to scream. He felt the pressure inside him building. He wasn't sure how long he'd have before he exploded.

…~oOo~…

Draco stood back while he let Hermione do the talking. She explained everything magnificently, if he did say so himself. She must have known from experience how to explain magic to Muggles. She was unfailingly patient, the same way she was with Teddy, and spoke in a smooth, soothing voice that made him kind of sleepy. Then again, Draco was always sleepy.

There were five adults there. It seemed that Chelsea's mother was either absent or dead. The disposition of her father reminded Draco greatly of Remus Lupin. Tired, worn, and his jacket's elbows were patched. His daughter's dress was a little tight across her waist, and the hem had obviously been redone. She was vaguely mousy and she had a pageboy haircut and pale green eyes.

Yvette, however, was almost the complete obvious. She was a little blonde girl with perfect ringlets that brushed her shoulders and the kind of poufy blue dress that Draco's mother would have bought him if he were born a girl. Her parents were both dressed impeccably, the father in a white suit with a pink tie and his wife in a sleeveless salmon dress. Obviously, they'd dressed to impress.

And young Adam, already tall for his age, stared at his toes. It was the kind of look that a young boy gave when he thought he was going to get in trouble for something. He was dressed in a simple polo and khakis and his parents looked like regular Muggles, reminding him of the pair of people in the photograph that Hermione kept on her bedside table. Her parents, obviously. He wondered if Adam's parents were Teeth People too or if Muggles were all just generally similar-looking.

"Any questions at all?" Hermione asked once she'd finished explaining the history of Hogwarts and how their children would be attending a sort of "satellite school".

Chelsea's father, Mr. Baker, ran his hands back through his nearly black hair and then dragged it through his greying beard. "This is a lot to take in."

Hermione nodded. "I know. Trust me, my parents were quite shocked themselves at first."

"What I fail to understand is why there is this 'new' satellite school when you've said yourself that special children have been going to Hogwarts for centuries," Adam's mother said. Her hair was a fluffy, layered bob thing. It was weird, Draco would admit that.

Both Mr. and Mrs. Lane nodded in agreement, sipping their tea. Mrs. Lane poked at her salad and Yvette sat prim and proper, smiling widely like she was a doll on display.

Hermione's eyes went wide and Draco could see the conflict in them. She was considering lying but would never do it successfully and then regret it heavily.

Sly as a snake, Draco slipped into the conversation, saying, "Our government is in a bit of…political crisis." He'd been standing in the corner of the Granger dining room while letting Luna, Neville, and Hermione sit with the parents and explain, but stepped forward in this moment of obvious desperation.

"Politics I understand," Mr. Lane said with a nod. "What, exactly, is the issue?"

"We've just inducted a new Minister," Draco explained. "He's a radical, I guess you could say. He's implementing a lot of laws that would not agree with the heritage of your children. There are some people in our world who do not… _trust_ magic that is born from non-magic. It is suspicious to them."

"They're wrong, of course, though," Neville jumped in, reassuring the parents. "You're children are the same as every other witch and wizard."

"It's true," Luna added, her voice light and airy. "Hermione is a Muggle-born and she is quite impressive even by witch standards."

"Muggles, which we are," Mr. Lane clarified.

Hermione nodded.

"Which makes our children Muggle-born," Mr. Lane went on, looking suspicious himself. "And Miss Granger is one, and the rest of you are…?"

"We're, coincidentally, all purebloods," Luna said.

Mr. Lane's eyebrow rose. "Sounds elitist."

"Some think we are," Draco said with a smirk.

"There is no difference in our blood," Hermione said with firm assurance. "I am the same as Chelsea, as well as Yvette and Adam. But not all agree which is why we've started this smaller school to educate while protecting your children from prejudice."

_And death_, Draco internally added.

There was a silence where everyone nibbled at the lunch of fancy sandwiches and salad and quiche. Molly Weasley had wanted to sway these people with her cooking skills, but it seemed not many of them had an appetite.

"Well, I'd love to talk about the chance to donate to this school," Mr. Lane said, quite pretentiously. "I understand the financial struggle that comes with opening a new establishment and I wouldn't want my daughter to be deprived of anything." He started pulling out his checkbook.

Hermione blinked. "So… you're saying yes?"

"Of course," Mrs. Lane said as if Hermione was daft for assuming otherwise. "That was never a question. Being invited to a private academy for gifted children is a tremendous opportunity for Yvette."

"Will there be unicorns?" Yvette said eagerly, her eyes shining.

"W-well, er," Hermione said, apparently overwhelmed by the sudden acceptance from Mr. and Mrs. Lane. "There are unicorns, but we don't exactly have one…"

"Could I buy one?" Mr. Lane asked, raising an eyebrow.

"The currency exchange conversion from pounds to Galleons doesn't exactly work in your favor, I should warn you," Draco said.

"Money is no object," Mr. Lane said.

"And you can't legally purchase unicorns," Luna added. "There are laws preventing the buy and sale of such a rare creature."

"That is… unfortunate," Mr. Lane said, pursing his lips. He wasn't happy to hear this news.

"But I'd be happy to speak to you about donating," Draco offered. He was sort of an expert when it came to wealthy people and their insatiable urge to give their spoiled children everything. Draco himself had been spoiled rotten and he wondered if Yvette was as much of a brat as he'd been. Though, by the sullen pout she wore, he didn't doubt it.

"Perhaps… join me in the smoking room?" Draco inquired. Then he turned to Hermione. "There is a smoking room in this house, right?"

The look on her face answered that question well enough.

"Sitting room it is," Draco said, reaching into his jacket pocket for the cigars he'd stashed there. He thought convincing the Muggles fathers would take more sweet-talk and smoking. But it was a good thing he brought them anyway, it turned out.

With that Draco left with Mr. Lane to discuss numbers.

"What is the tuition exactly?" Mr. Nolan asked Hermione.

"No tuition," Hermione said with a smile. She saw the relief in Chelsea's fathers eyes. There was a pang of pity in her chest, but shook it off. Men didn't want to be pitied.

Chelsea looked up at her father pleadingly, mouthing the word "please" over and over. She clasped one of his large hands with two of her smaller ones. It took a minute before he gave a simple nod and she squealed with excitement.

"We're in as well," Mr. Nolan added, to which Adam finally looked up from his shoes with surprise.

Hermione, Neville, and Luna all shared a victorious smile.

…~oOo~…

~ So Long And Thanks For All The Fish ~


	6. Chapter Five: In Which Draco Gives In

A/N. Discovered from a helpful reviewer **mh21** that LeakyCon next year is being held at the Orlando Harry Potter theme park in Florida next year (2014), so in case any of you were curious.

I wonder if I stopped updating every day if I'd get more reviews… Hmmm…. Maybe I'll start a schedule? Once a week?

…~oOo~…

Chapter Five: In Which Draco Gives In

The last portrait was hung. Draco was beginning to wish he'd volunteered to go and fetch one of the eleven-year-olds. Instead he'd bitched and whined and Hermione had thrown her hands up in defeat and said that she'd do it himself as long as he would be at Mould-on-the-Wold to get things ready. She'd even given him a blasted checklist. And Teddy.

So there he was, doing each of her stupid tasks and trailing a two year behind him as he went. It wasn't difficult to keep Teddy entertained – the little boy was absolutely fascinated by Draco, it seemed, and was fine just running in and out of rooms as they passed them.

Mould-on-the-Wold was a manor house with a few wings, plenty of space for their grand total of twelve pupils. The four exiled Muggle-borns from various years, the three eleven-year-olds, and the five who withdrew from Hogwarts. The Order members whose education was cut short said they'd drop in for a lesson now and then but wouldn't board.

The students had the west wing of the manor, which was where Draco was hanging the portrait of Nymphadora Tonks. She was chatting incessantly, ecstatic about her new post as official watch-portrait of the students of the academy named after her husband. Also, she was thrilled to no end to see her son who had spent quite some time grabbing at the canvas with increasing frustration.

That had tugged at Draco's heart slightly. A two-year-old, reaching for his mother and not understanding why he couldn't touch her. He'd seen the tears well up in the painted Tonks's eyes and Draco looked away.

But Tonks had recovered and decided to natter about anything and everything. Draco was starting to understand why his father couldn't stand portraits. Especially new ones like Tonks who couldn't shut up.

"This is truly a brilliant idea! Very brilliant!" Tonk said for the hundredth time. "Tell Hermione she'd a genius, will you? I can't wait to see all the new students. The poor things are probably terrified – I know I'd been and I'm a half-blood! Can't imagine what First Year must be like for Muggle-borns! My dad always said it'd been 'both horrifying and exhilarating'. Oh, yeah! You think you could get my dad a portrait to put somewhere near here? Talk to my mum about it, maybe?"

"Can't you just go to your portrait at Andromeda's and see his there?" Draco asked.

"Mum hasn't gotten a frame for either of us yet, it seems," Tonks said with a sigh. "I think it's still too fresh, you know? Losing your husband and daughter in the same year."

"It was two years ago," Draco pointed out.

"My mum, though she'd never show it, is a very emotional person. And on top of what you told me about Remus's and my home being burnt down and with her having been the secret keeper… She can't be in a great place," Tonks said, shaking her head sadly. "I miss her a lot. But at least I have you, cousin."

In a half-frown, Draco's mouth pulled to the side. "I often forget we're family."

Tonks winked. "No, you don't. You just don't like admitting it to yourself is the problem. I'm glad that Teddy can spend time with you, too. You're some of his last family."

Draco looked over to where Teddy was running up and down the corridor, giggling at the echo of his own footsteps.

"Can't stand that brat," Draco said without any real feeling behind it.

Tonks's eyes sparkled knowingly. "Sure. Whatever you say, cousin." She paused. "One more thing before you go about your duties as Hermione's lackey –"

"I am no one's lackey, woman!" Draco growled.

"Says the man carrying the list like a good little hubby," Tonks said with a roll of her eyes.

She was infuriating. Draco was ready to be done with her.

"But as I was _saying_," Tonks said pointedly. "I was wondering about why the hell there isn't a portrait of Remus around."

"I don't know, frankly," Draco said. "There hasn't been room in the budget to spend on dozens of new portraits. If there was one made for every casualty from the war we'd have nothing to eat. Though, I'm starting to suspect it has something to do with the fact that Granger starts crying the second someone says his name, or even vaguely mentions him."

Raising an eyebrow, Tonks said, "Really?"

"Yeah," Draco said. "Do you know anything about that? Rumor has it he saved her life."

Portrait Tonks shrugged. "Sorry. I went before Remus. I don't know how he died, only that he did. Which is why I think you should send someone a little more informed up to see me. I have a right to know, you know."

"You're a painting," Draco said bluntly. "You don't have rights."

"No, but I have the ability to accidentally slip into a free frame in your bedroom when you're… oh, I don't know… changing? Wanking? Doing something equally embarrassing that I can use against you?"

"You're the icicles that hang from the Seventh Circle of Hell, did you know that?" Draco said menacingly low.

"You underestimate me, love," Tonks said, her voice just as low and her eyes glittering with amusement. She was enjoying this.

"Just think because I can't hurt you that I won't take a steak knife to your canvas."

"And don't think that just because I'm a Hufflepuff that I'm above destroying your last shreds of dignity from beyond the grave," she said confidently. "Now, off you go. You have things to do. Send McGonagall to see me soon, please."

"Fine," Draco said.

"Bye-bye, Teddy! Mummy loves you dearly, darling," Tonks said as her son ran up behind Draco. She blew him kiss after kiss, to which he blew some sloppy kisses back. Her eyes were tearing up again, but she was giggling.

To be honest, Draco felt like crying himself. But he didn't.

…~oOo~…

"I apologize for my poor driving," Hermione said nervously, bumping along in the Weasley's flying car. They were on the road, though, obviously. And Hermione was beyond nervous. She'd gotten her license over the summer between Fifth and Sixth Year and only drove a few times since. She was being exceptionally careful now that she had Chelsea in the passenger seat, holding onto her seat tightly.

Chelsea didn't say anything. She didn't seem to be a talkative girl.

Hermione wanted to make conversation, though, to distract the girl from her bad driving skills.

"Are you excited?" Hermione asked. "You know, learning you're a witch and all. I found it very… anxious. In a good and bad way. But I was so eager to be the best despite my being different – being Muggle-born, that is – so I did all this research and reading that really only ever got me bullied." She laughed lightly.

Chelsea finally turned to look at her. "Will I be bullied?" Her voice was quiet.

"No!" Hermione said, too quickly. "No, of course not, I won't let that happen. Absolutely not."

Chelsea looked back out on the road and said nothing in return.

Feeling awkward, Hermione cleared her throat. "You'll miss your dad, won't you?"

Hermione didn't think the young girl would answer and was surprised when she did.

"I do already," Chelsea admitted.

"Well, you'll be able to write to him every other week," Hermione told her. "I got a P.O. box, you see? So I'll be able to make trips every once in a while to get the post so that your correspondence with your dad won't be…interrupted. Normally we use owls – they're faster and more efficient – but it's not safe to use them anymore."

"Why not?" Chelsea inquired.

"Er…" Hermione tried to find a way to tell Chelsea delicately that their post was being intercepted by the government to make sure there were no rebels amongst them.

But Chelsea was perceptive, apparently, because she said, "It's worse than you let on, isn't it?"

Letting out a sigh, Hermione glanced sideways at the girl. She was a skinny thing with boyishly short hair and an old t-shirt and ratty jeans. But her eyes were wide and intelligent. She saw everything, that much Hermione could tell. An observant one.

"Well…" Hermione said slowly. "Yes. But it's nothing I can't protect you from."

There was a pause before the young girl said, "I believe you."

Hermione couldn't help but start to cry. Chelsea had no clue how much those words meant to her.

…

"How about baby unicorns?"

"Er, well, I, uh, never –"

"How about fairies? You've met plenty of those, I'm sure!"

"Well, pixies, they tend to be nasty little creatures, you see –"

"I said _fairies_, not pixies!"

"Where's Luna when you need her?" Neville mumbled to himself, slouching deep into his chair. Luna and Hermione and he were supposed to all meet in Mould-on-the-Wold's – not Moony's Academy – library with the kids, but he'd arrived first and now he had to listen to the very demanding Yvette.

How he got stuck with the girl, he had no clue.

"Fairies aren't as impressive as you think," Neville explained. "They're really vain and like to hang around mirrors a lot, but they just look like humanoid bugs, honestly. They don't talk. Their magic is weak and they usually are happy being used as decoration."

Yvette didn't seem very happy about this. Neville suspected she expected fairies to be of the fairtytale variety, with enough magic to make a pumpkin into a carriage and transform rags into a beautiful gown. Not so much, he was sad to report.

"But this is the kind of stuff you'll be learning in class," Neville told her.

Yvette's nose scrunched up unattractively.

"I know the idea of 'class' isn't usually an exciting one, but I promise it will be fun," Neville said. Then he frowned abruptly. "Except potions. Never potions." He shuddered.

"In Hogwarts," a new voice said, "his nickname was Cauldron Disaster."

Looking up, Neville found Draco leaning against one of the many shelves in the library, seeming to have appeared out of thin air. It was creepy how he did that, Neville observed, and it didn't help that he always looked so calculating. Like he was mentally listing ways he could kill you.

"No it wasn't," Neville said, trying desperately not to be meek.

"In Slytherin it was."

"Slytherin is one of those Houses, right?" Yvette inquired. "Are we going to get Houses?"

"No," Draco said in a way that left no room for argument. "Though you'd be a dead ringer for Slytherin."

Neville couldn't help but agree with that.

…~oOo~…

After dinner – a roast from Molly with mashed potatoes, vegetables, and pie for dessert – all of the children were stuffed. Molly said, "It's no Hogwarts Welcome Feast", but there were no complaints from the kids. After they finished their tea and pie, they went up to bed, most seeming eager for class the next day.

Hermione was avoiding the west wing because she knew Tonks's portrait was there, so she'd asked Neville to show them to their rooms, which he was happy to do. Kreacher had popped up from Grimmauld Place, ready to take orders. He went about the cleaning with Luna's help. Draco retired immediately and Hermione said she had to go and get all of the students' things together for the next day.

Really, she'd had their supplies organized and ready days before. She just needed time to research.

It was one o'clock in the morning that she decided she needed to scour the library of the manor. She only got one or two quick looks, but now she had hours to spare. In her horizontally striped, button-up pajamas Hermione walked along the tall corridors of Mould-on-the-Wold. There were a few portraits, but no one she recognized and they were all snoring away.

She was walking for about five minutes before she heard footsteps coming from the other end of the dark corridor. With her brow furrowed, she couldn't imagine the kids already sneaking out past their curfew. She slowed her pace, just in case.

Finally when the footfalls became a shadow and the shadow got close enough, Hermione let out a breath of relief. It was only Draco. Unlike herself, he was dressed in a black shirt, vest, and trousers. He was preoccupied with his cufflinks and didn't see her until he got close enough and looked up with a confused expression.

"Granger, what are you doing up?" he asked.

"I could ask you the same thing."

"Revel tonight," he said, his words short and sharp. He wasn't looking forward to it, that much was sure.

"Oh," Hermione said, automatically concerned. "Shouldn't you tell someone when you're being summoned?"

"I'm telling you, aren't I?"

"Yes, but don't you have a handler of some sort?"

"My handler used to be Percy, but then he became too busy with his other responsibilities," Draco explained, raking a hand back through his blonde hair. Hermione noticed that it was getting a little shaggy and considered offering him a haircut, but kept her mouth shut. "So now I write in an enchanted journal that's linked with McGonagall's once I return."

"That doesn't seem as reliable," Hermione said, chewing her bottom lip.

Draco shrugged. "McGonagall gets the information she needs."

"But what if you returned hurt or something," Hermione said awkwardly. "Who's to take care of you?"

"I'm quite adept at taking care of myself," Draco said snappishly. "Now, in case you've forgotten, I've asked why you're up." Then he hissed and his hand flinched towards his left arm. "On second thought, we'll talk about that later. And don't think you're free and clear. We _will_ walk." He swept past her, towards the staircase, becoming a shadow once more.

…

Revels had become darkly elegant affairs held in the catacombs of the Ministry. Before Voldemort's victory, they'd been messy and drunken with Muggles chained to the walls. Now, instead, they had Muggles serving champagne on platters and everyone dressed formally. This was Snow's influence.

The facts were that Voldemort hadn't been seen publically since his victory. Everything went through Minister Snow now. The Dark Lord would send his voice through speaking letters – not Howlers, for the Dark Lord never "howled" – proving that was, indeed, still alive.

That was part of Draco's overall mission. Find out where Voldemort was and what state was he in. Was he injured like the rumors said? Or was he taking a holiday and letting Snow do all the dirty work?

When he entered the cavernous underground ballroom, Draco looked around to the Muggles who looked horrified and tired – having been no doubt Crucio'd and Imperius'd earlier – and his fellow Death Eaters lounging on sofas and pillows or dancing to the soft, sensuous music that floated through the chilly air. Everything was made of black, silvery greys, and deep velvety greens.

While they dressed in long gowns, the beautiful pureblooded women walking around had long slits in their skirts that came to their thighs, plunging necklines, and large dips on their back, exposing what seemed like miles of skin.

So many women. Most pureblood, some half-blood, all of them beautiful. Draco felt like a starving dog looking through the window of a butcher shop. He couldn't touch if he wanted to. He had eavesdropping to do.

"Draco, son," Lucius said, sauntering over. His father's silk shirt had one more button undone than usual. Draco knew his father was on the prowl for a bed partner that night. His father's mistresses had been part of his life for a long time, it was something no one thought twice about.

"It's good you're finally here," Lucius said, wrapping an arm around his son's shoulders and clutching him tight. This gesture had nothing to do with fatherly affection. Lucius was simply steering him towards Snow and needed to be close to whisper without bystanders hearing. "Snow has been waiting for you to arrive for twenty minutes now. What took you so long?"

"A woman," Draco said vaguely.

Lucius chuckled lowly. "I hope you aren't too worn out. Daphne was just telling me how much her younger sister…admires you."

"I do not need my _father_'s help to pull," Draco said with a scowl. "Go _admire_ Daphne while I speak to the Minister, how about that?"

"You don't need to ask me twice," Lucius said with a thoroughly slimy smile. Draco really wished his father wasn't such a pervert around him.

"Some decency," Draco implored even though Lucius was already stalking towards his prey. Rolling his eyes, he waltzed up to Minister Snow who had his body guards and a few guests around him. In the dim light, his white mask had a silvery sheen to its smooth surface. The only parts of his face that he could see were Snow's dark blue eyes and parchment pale lips.

"Minster," Draco said with a bow of his head and then extending his hand, which the Minister shook. He wore white gloves. "I apologize for my tardiness."

"No worries," the Minister said in that quiet voice of his. "I was just eager to speak with you." Snow looked at the guests he'd been speaking to and with a dismissing wave of his hand, they dispersed, leaving Draco along with Snow and his body guards. He knew Rabastan Lestrange, but didn't recognize the other guard.

"Lucius told me about your concern about the Statute of Secrecy," Snow said, gesturing for Draco to follow him. They began strolling on the very outskirts of the "party". "With the Muggle-borns who are still experiencing accidental magic and how it will increase. Your concern is understandable." There was a lengthy pause before Snow went on. "How much do you know about Grindelwald's war, Draco?"

Draco feigned ignorance. A spy had to make oneself seem dimmer than reality in order to keep anyone from feeling threatened or suspicious. If Draco was just another spoiled brat whose father bought his grades then there was no reason for the Minister or anyone to think he had anything up his sleeve.

"Well, Grindelwald whispered into the ears of very powerful men," Snow said. "Men who took control of whole countries and brought those lesser than them to their knees. And do you know how they got their power?

"They started as charismatic politicians, drawing a society in crisis in with promises of a better future. The people were desperate. Then, these clever politicians created a common enemy. A scapegoat for all of the country's problems. And because these people were impoverished and desperate, they went along with it. They blamed a specific group of people for their problems and were going to milk that excuse dry – going as far as isolating and killing these people.

"We can learn from the past, Draco," Snow told him wisely. "Grindelwald was a great man and would have seized all of Europe by now had he not been defeated by Dumbledore.

"My point is this. In a few years – during which I plan on taking control of the French and Eastern European Ministries – the amount of mudbloods unknowing of their magic will be noticeable. The blinders the Muggles have been wearing will be removed and they will see these accidental magic episodes as Satanism and blasphemy. Just when they become almost frantic about these freakshow children, we will sweep in with words of comfort, easing all of their fears with explanation and assurances.

"Even the Muggles will see that magic should never come from non-magic," Snow said with confidence. "It is unnatural. We will simply tell the Muggles that these mudbloods are abominations and they will indubitably believe us. They will be driven by fear and awe to bend to our will.

"It won't take long for us to take control. Just some mind games, a few grand speeches, and the dependency of the stupidity of Muggles." Snow took a sip of champagne. "It won't take long at all.

"So, do you see now, Draco? Do you understand the importance that the Statute of Secrecy be well and truly broken by mudbloods?" he finished, looking Draco in the eyes.

Staring back into the man's dark blue eyes, Draco couldn't help but reflect on the genius of his plan. It was a calculated and patient plan. Snow was willing to wait years for all of it to come together. World domination just didn't happen overnight.

"I understand completely," Draco said with a nod. "It is… a genius plan."

Snow gave a simple nod of appreciation. "I will leave you to the festivities, now. I am sure you are eager to mingle among your cohorts."

Draco knew this to be a dismissal and gave a small bow of his head once more before turning around and walking back towards the center of the revel.

So much information. Snow was terribly clever. It seemed he and the Dark Lord were making a good team. Snow wielded the finesse and patience that the Dark Lord lacked.

Before Draco could steal the memory from his head and put it in one of the small vials stashed in his pockets, a svelte young lady was draped on his shoulder. She seemed to have just appeared, but he must not have been paying attention.

"Hello, Draco," Astoria purred, hanging on his shoulder like an ornament. She was dressed in a steel grey silk gown that dipped so far in the back he saw the dimples just above her round, perky bum. She was all light bronze skin, cornsilk blonde hair, and pink, coy smile. "I've been looking forward to see you tonight." Her breath smelt like blueberry champagne.

They danced this dance every dark revel. Astoria would make eyes at him, Draco would use his usual scathing charm, she'd get half naked and he'd make an excuse why he had to go. And it seemed it was already getting to the point of the evening where the clothes were coming off if the writing shadows and shapes on the couches and the corners were anything to go by.

Astoria was wearing Amortentia perfume. Draco knew it for what it was and was immune to its effects. But that didn't mean she didn't still smell damn good.

Without a word, Draco nuzzled his nose in the top of her hair, inhaling deeply. Astoria was a lovely girl. Soft and warm and nice-smelling.

But he had spying to do…

But she was guiding his hand to the zipper of her dress…

But there could be more information to be heard…

But, Merlin, she smelt delectable.

Then he came to a conclusion. He deserved a break. A reward, even. Something to take his mind away for a little while. Between his father being made headmaster, Hermione losing her marbles, the new school, and now Snow's ultimate plan for domination. It all became too much after a while.

Astoria sensed his defeat and began unbuttoning his vest. For the first time he did not stop her.

…~oOo~…

~ So Long And Thanks For All The Fish ~


	7. Chapter Six: In Which Words

A/N. I have to say, everything on here written by **Aurette** is stellar. She's kept me up days reading all of her stories. She's a Severus/Hermione expert – so if you like that pairing, go check her out.

A Little Scavenger Hunt: In this chapter, you'll read a little bit about the wands given to Adam, Yvette, and Chelsea. Let's see if you can find out whose wand went to which Muggle-born. First find the chapter and passage that told which wands were available (Hint: Ginny was the one who hid the spare wands and listed them) and then, from the clues given and from what you know about the original owners, guess whose went to whom.

…~oOo~…

Chapter Six: In Which Words Are Regretted

Draco spent a surprisingly large amount of his free time thinking about how his life would have been had Potter just defeated Voldemort like he was supposed to. It wasn't something he liked to do, because he believed dreaming about the whimsical what-ifs were for Hufflepuffs, but when he found himself with a few spare minutes, lying in bed, his mind just… went there.

After he'd shagged Astoria Greengrass into a whimpering, satiated pile of blonde hair and sweaty skin, he'd sneaked out of their curtain of privacy, escaped the catacombs of the Ministry and the revel, and returned to Mould-on-the-Wold. This was where he was laying. Thinking about the what-ifs.

It would have been a tidy ending, this much he was sure of. It was so tangible in his head. He would have married a respectable, pureblooded girl per his parents' demand. It would have likely been Astoria, he thought upon reflection, or maybe even Pansy. He would have done so willingly, because that's what purebloods were expected to do. They would have resided at the Manor in Wiltshire, having one son – for this is what Malfoys have always done – and then gone about their lives, together but separate, but content that way.

But now everything was changed. His plans were skewed. Normally, Draco would be courting by now. But following the victory at Hogwarts, his parents became distracted along with every other Death Eater. A marriage hadn't been arranged in two years in the elitist pureblood community. Technically, they were still in the process of total domination of the wizarding world. Draco was a pawn that could not be retired quite yet.

The peaceful, semi-happy future he'd been – frankly – looking forward to was put on hold, if not disappeared from existence.

_I could have been happy, Potter_, Draco thought wryly. _And you fucked it up by dying. I always knew there was a reason I hated you_.

Just as he was cursing the dead "savior", there was a banging on the door.

"Malfoy! You prat! You absolute idiot! You open this door!"

If the splitting headache stretching over his skull was anything to go by, it was Hermione. No one could quite screech like her.

Draco groaned and sat up, rubbing at his temples and tossing his legs over the side of his bed. "Come in," he said, just loud enough, his voice raspy from his long night.

The door blew open, slamming into the wall with the force of the shove. "I hate you!" Hermione shouted, marching in. The first thing he noticed was that smelt like tea and cucumbers. It made him hungry. But then he noticed her hair, barely restrained in its bun, was getting frizzier by the second and was giving off blue sparks.

"What've I done?" Draco asked, scratching his ear and yawning. Slowly, he stood up and started slumping towards his trunk of things, yet to be unpacked.

"Do you have any clue what time it is?" she demanded, her hands flailing everywhere.

"Too early to be getting yelled at?" he guessed.

"No! It is two o'clock in the afternoon, you bastard!"

Oh no, Draco thought. She'd escalated into swearing. This could not be good. "And…?"

"_And_? AND?! _AND_ HE SAYS!" she screeched to the ceiling. "TODAY WAS THE FIRST DAY OF CLASSES AND YOU WEREN'T THERE! THE CHILDREN WAITED FOR YOU!"

"Fuck," Draco hissed to himself, cringing as he remembered. Of course that's what it was.

"_I_ waited for you!" Hermione added in frenzy. "I've never felt so stupid! I was counting on you! When everyone came to me telling me that letting you join our team of misfit professors was a huge mistake, I defended you! Said I trusted you – which everyone thought I was barmy for!"

"You knew I was at a revel," Draco said, a spark of anger igniting deep in his chest. He turned to her, still in his wrinkled shirt and pants, his hair rumpled.

"As if that's the reason you're _so exhausted_," Hermione snapped. "You must think I'm stupid. I stink of perfume, Malfoy!"

Busted. "So what?" he said with derision. "I do have a life outside of being you and the Dark Lord's lackey!" Which was probably the biggest lie he'd told in a while. He didn't have a life at all. He just went through the motions.

Hermione gasped, another curl springing into her face as she vibrated with magic. "How dare put me and Voldemort in the same category!"

"There's not much difference that I can tell!" Draco shot back. "You're both dictating, loud, and pains in my arse!"

"_Why did you even volunteer_?" she screamed, looking a cross between bemusement and wrathful. "I can't figure it out for the life of me! Why waste your time pretending like you care!"

"I don't even know anymore!" he shouted, something in him snapping. "For some deranged reason, I pitied you! No one wanted to help you except Loony and Neville Bloody Longbottom! In a moment of complete stupidity, I decided to offer my help. And then I thought, 'This is my penance. For redemption, I will teach a bunch of snot-nosed, harebrained _Mudbloods_ about magic'!"

Draco felt the slap before he saw it. It echoed in his vision after the sharp sting on his cheek.

There was a stretch of silence where Draco wanted to slap himself and Hermione's breathing was emphatic in the stillness.

"Get out," Hermione croaked, her voice suddenly quiet.

Draco blinked. "What –"

"I said get out," she whispered, backing away towards the door. Her hair sparked no more, but hung limply against her forehead and neck. Her brown eyes were filling with water. "We… we _Mudbloods_ don't need your help." She turned her back to him, straightened her shoulders, and marched out of his room, her footfalls loud on the floorboards.

His words that day were his First Regret.

…

"You're back already." It wasn't a question. Just a statement.

Draco looked over at Amelia Bones. She was staring at him with her intense gaze and he wasn't in the mood to hear about how she suspected he'd be back to Grimmauld all along. There was probably a pool going between the refugees – they loved to gamble.

"I am a failure," Draco said in a monotone voice, dropping his trunk to the floor of the sitting room. It made a loud thud. "Is that what you want to hear?"

Amelia didn't respond at all. Rolling his eyes, Draco levitated his trunk into the corner, back to its original home. Being at Grimmauld meant living in the sitting room, sleeping on the couch. He could take Hermione's bedroom now that she was at Mould-on-the-Wold, but she'd probably castrate him if she found out. After their "conversation" she probably lost all maternal feelings toward him.

Something about knowing Hermione wouldn't mother and smother him made him sort of… sad.

He fell into the sofa, propped his feet up on it, and lounged, trying to wallow and pretend that Amelia wasn't there in the loveseat across from him. He closed his eyes.

"You disappointed her, didn't you?"

Draco's eyes snapped open. How did she know?

"It's part of the human condition, you see. We'll always disappoint the people who care about us," Amelia said, her voice soft. "It's because they value us at all."

"I am not going to pretend I know what you're talking about."

Amelia chuckled lowly. "We can't disappoint those who feel nothing for us at all. They would be indifferent to our failures. It's because she cares for you that she's upset with you."

"Why did I have to be the one to do something wrong, eh?" he challenged, not looking at her. He kept his eyes on the ceiling. "Maybe _she_ disappointed _me_, ever think of that? Why do I have to be the resident fuck-up?"

Without looking at her, Draco knew she was arching an eyebrow at him.

"It's because I'm the monster with the Mark, I know," Draco growled. "Alright? I know. I was bound to ruin everything from the start. It's what I do."

"Well, I know one person who would disagree with that sentiment."

"Oh yeah? And who's that?"

"A certain little boy with color-changing hair who has taken to parading around as a blonde with grey eyes these days, in case you haven't noticed."

"He has not," Draco said. But that was a lie too. He'd noticed Teddy mimicking his looks. He just didn't want Amelia to know he'd noticed anything about Teddy at all. It revealed too much.

"You know he has," Amelia said, falling for nothing. "And deep down you know the hardest part about returning here is that Teddy will be _there_ with Miss Granger. And you know you'll miss him dearly."

"Shut up," Draco said, but it had no passion behind it.

"You love that boy."

"I said, _shut up_."

"But if you truly loved him –"

"For Merlin's sake, woman!"

"– then you'd try to be better for him."

"_I told you to stop it_!" Draco commanded, wrenching upward in his seat and sneering at her. "You think you're so fucking important, do you? All because you were so powerful and influential in the wizarding world? Well, you're not anymore, Bones. You're in the dirt with the rest of us, so step down from that throne of yours and get used to groveling. Your words officially mean nothing. And nor do mine. Save your lectures for when the Dark Lord is dead and you're petitioning for Minister."

Amelia didn't say anything right away, but stood up. With a few steps, she was standing over Draco's prone form on the couch. She looked down into his eyes.

"Our words do mean something," Amelia said simply. "If they didn't, how could yours hurt her so deeply?"

…

Furiously wiping at her eyes, nose, and cheeks, Hermione walked back down the many flights of stairs to the very large dining room of Mould-on-the-Wold. There was a teapot with steam floating out its spout and a second cup steeping. It was like Luna knew Hermione would be coming.

"How did your talk with Draco go?" Luna inquired.

Shaking her head, Hermione sniffled once more before taking the seat next to the blonde girl. "I… evicted him. He's back at Grimmauld, I suspect."

"That's unfortunate," Luna said sympathetically.

"I may have flown off the handle," Hermione confessed quietly. "But he… he said something unforgivable."

"Nothing is unforgivable," Luna said, staring at Hermione with her big eyes. "Not even the Unforgivables. Not in all cases at least."

Hermione snorted quietly, raising her eyebrows at Luna. "Really? Name one case."

"When Snape killed Dumbledore," Luna said immediately. "I have no doubt Dumbledore forgave Snape, even if it was in the afterlife."

"Yes," Hermione credited with a thoughtful frown. "But I doubt Snape ever forgave himself."

Luna nodded in agreement, bringing her teacup to her lips, holding it very gingerly between her thumb and forefinger. Hermione smirked at the very delicate way Luna sipped her tea and wrapped her fingers around her own cup, finding comfort in the warmth of it.

Only moments later all about half of their students came running into the dining room for tea time, the other six off exploring the premises or relaxing. With Draco not showing up for his class, schedule they'd been so ready for was all thrown off. Hermione would have to make a new one before the next day.

"I'll go put on some more tea," Luna said as she stood up and skipped towards the kitchen.

Neville came in behind the students and slumped down into a chair next to Hermione. All of the kids around the table were chattering excitedly. He'd taken the students Draco'd been in charge of for that day. He looked tired already. He looked for at Hermione beseechingly, his eyes saying, "Tell me you've found Malfoy, please!" while remaining silent.

Shrugging apologetically, Hermione said, "We'll have to reschedule it all. But it can't be that hard. We'll just have to pick up the classes Malfoy was supposed to teach while adding a single student to each of our groups per day."

Neville, still boggled by the class system Hermione had thought up, blinked and said, "You mean to say he quit?"

Clearing her throat self-consciously, Hermione said, "Something like that."

At length, Neville said under his breath so the kids didn't hear, "You fired him, didn't you?"

"Well, what was I supposed to do?" Hermione said defensively.

"Er, I dunno, give him a second chance?"

"Draco Malfoy is running a bit low on second chances, don't you think?"

"I think we need four of us," Neville answered with a shrug, scratching the back of his head. "And let's face it – no one is more practiced in the Dark Arts and the Defense Against Them than Draco Malfoy. Not to mention advanced potions for the older kids. You've already got so much on your plate, Hermione, and I know you'll want to pick up those classes, but really…you don't have enough hours in the day to do the things you're doing. Not to mention Teddy. Who is napping right now, just so you know."

Hermione nodded. "Yes, Luna told me she put him down earlier. I checked on him. And, Neville, I do see what you're saying. But maybe we can find someone else."

"What'd he do?"

"He skipped all his classes, you know that!"

Shaking his head, Neville said, "No. I mean what he did to make you have angry eyes."

With a heavy sigh, Hermione said, "I don't want to talk about it."

…~oOo~…

Chelsea was exploring, her wand clutched firmly in her right hand. Even though she really had no clue how to use it apart from making a feather float for a few seconds, having the wand in her hand made her feel at ease. It wasn't easy going away to school or finding out she was a witch, but that stick – that long stem of elm – somehow made her feel better. It gave tangibility to the reality of it all.

That morning Professor Granger had given a lecture on wands. It was their very first class ever and already Chelsea felt like she learned so much. She talked all about the properties of a wand, calling it a "quasi-sentient instrument", and when Chelsea asked what that meant, Professor Granger hadn't made her feel stupid or silly for not knowing. She just smiled, said it was a good question, and explained that it meant that even though it couldn't think or talk like a human, it could perform certain actions, make decisions, through their own will.

It was fascinating, the concept that a piece of wood had a will at all. But it made sense considering what Professor Granger explaining that wands traditionally chose the wizard instead of the other way around.

When they started levitating feathers, Chelsea witnessed what incompatible wands and witches could mean. Adam's wand, a very long, slim, tan wand was giving him trouble. Instead of floating the feather, it made the feather bounce around uncontrollably while the whole class tried to catch it. Also, Yvette's black wand – it had a pretty silver handle – refused to do anything for twenty minutes which made the girl throw a right fit.

Chelsea's wand, however, already felt like her best friend. She knew they were a good fit, even though she didn't say so to anyone. She didn't want to make Adam or Yvette feel bad about their wands rebelling.

While she explored the southern wing of the manor, she found out that many of the rooms were empty. Some had shelves, others didn't. Some had trash, a few empty boxes, one had a full-length mirror. The mirror's glass had gone cloudy with age and there was a crack along the bottom of it.

One room, though, had a bed in it. A four-poster bed. The mattress was bare and moldy. But in the headboard, scratched by a pin or something, were the initials A.D. At first Chelsea thought it was indicating a year "After Death", but when she found no numbers realized it must be a name. She looked for other evidence of its owner, but found none except a long blue ribbon stuck under the mattress. It was a pretty satin ribbon and after long consideration of whether or not it was stealing, Chelsea wrapped it around her head and tied it in a bow on the side of her hair like a headband.

It wasn't for another three rooms that Chelsea found anything else. It was an empty room, granted, but something about it pulled her in and made her give it a second look. She checked the floorboards, the corners, tested the window. All she found was dust, dust, and more dust. Then she opened the closet door with caution, afraid bats would fly out. There were no bats or monsters. Just an old knit scarf the color of rust.

When she looked up, she saw there was a shelf at the top of the closet. Stretching on her toes to see what was on it, Chelsea frowned when she found that she was too short to reach or see. But then her eyes zeroed in on it. It was the tiniest thing – a corner of white that barely hung over the edge of the shelf. It could have been paper or an envelope, Chelsea couldn't tell which.

Chelsea wanted to levitate it down. But Professor Granger had shown a lot of worry concerning their use of magic outside the classroom, making it clear that they should be under supervision from one of the teachers or an older student when they wanted to practice and experiment.

She needed a taller person. But not an adult, she didn't want to bother them. And the older students were too intimidating.

And then it hit her. It would be a little outside of her comfort zone to walk up to someone she didn't really know, but he should be just about the right size to stretch up and grab it or strong enough to give her a boost.

Chelsea just hoped Adam would be willing to join her adventure.

…~oOo~…

~ So Long And Thanks For All The Fish ~


	8. Chapter Seven: In Which Someone Returns

A/N. Why did you drop, reviews? *sad face*. Did I do something wrong? Was the last chapter boring? Feedback does wonders *smile*.

A big high-five to **Clarabelle **for getting all three wand-to-students pairings right! Right on, girl!

…~oOo~…

Chapter Seven: In Which Someone Returns

Adam was promised broomstick riding lessons, but alas they were not to be. He couldn't help but feel disappointed. Professor Granger had explained that their would-be flying instructor – the blonde man from the luncheon – would no longer be around. She gave a very vague explanation, something about conflicting schedules, but usually such a flimsy excuse was just something to make kids feel better. He was either fired or resigned before even starting.

Instead of wallowing indoors at the loss of the chance to fly a broomstick, Adam spent tea time outside. It was a week into classes and he found himself restless and a little bored. They were only allowed out so far, the boundaries marked by flags at the corner of the property – but it was a very big yard space, complete with a garden, a smallish pond, and a thicket of trees around the border.

Adam sat on a bough in one of the largest trees, looking down at where Professor Longbottom was showing a few of the older students – Fourth, Sixth, and Seventh Year – a particular flower in the garden. In the room designated as Longbottom's classroom there were already multiple potted plants and at night he saw him in his pajamas, roaming the garden. The man liked plants, apparently.

Adam didn't see the appeal. They were green, they came out of the ground, they just kind of sat there. Not his thing.

What would have been his thing was flying. But apparently Professors Hermione and Longbottom both disliked flying and no one seemed to trust Professor Lovegood on a broom. He couldn't blame them. It was no secret the lady was a bit spacey.

But Professor Granger seemed normal and for the most part reasonable, if not a little uptight. He wondered if he could maybe talk to her about getting the blonde man – Malfoy was his name, he remembered – back or maybe getting someone else to teach him how to fly. It was only fair.

"Excuse me…" a small voice from below called up. "Do you mind if I… er… join you?"

Adam looked directly down. There, standing at the base of the tree, was Chelsea. She was wearing the standard uniform – white blouse, plaid skirt, tights, Mary Jane shoes. Her bangs were pushed out of her face by the same blue ribbon she'd worn all week.

Chelsea was quiet. Knowing her for only eight days made that clear. Even now as she looked up at him, her eyes darted everywhere without meeting his and she was wringing her hands nervously. She stood slightly pigeon-toed and wondered if she always stood like that.

Adam looked around, making sure Yvette wasn't around. Yvette never stopped talking and if she popped up, he would miss this opportunity to have a conversation with the girl who hadn't said more than a word to him until now. This was sure to be interesting.

"You're wearing a skirt," he pointed out. "I'll come down."

Chelsea looked relieved at this and Adam smiled as he dropped from branch to branch with ease. With a final hop, he was on the ground, stumbling only a little bit on the landing.

"Hullo," Adam said brightly.

"Yes, um, hello," she answered primly. Her hands fell to her sides where they clutched her skirt tightly in small fists. "I was hoping to speak with you about…something…"

"Yeah?" he prompted. "What about?"

"I wanted to know if I could borrow your height," she blurted.

"My height?" He raised an eyebrow at her. She was a quirky girl, that was for sure.

"Yes. You see, I was doing a bit of looking around earlier in the week and found that I could not reach something on a shelf," Chelsea explained.

"Why didn't you levitate it down?"

Chelsea blushed furiously. "Professor Granger advised us not to use magic outside of the classroom without supervision."

Adam nodded, but smiled a little. During the night all he did was levitate stuff around his room once he got the hang of it. His wand was still giving him some troubles but he felt he was training the wand to get used to him. It was a lively wand, that was for sure, overzealous in its actions.

Chelsea was a rule-follower though. He could respect that.

Then he had a stroke of genius.

"So…" Adam said, "You need me to reach something up high?"

She nodded.

"What do I get in return?" he inquired.

Chelsea blinked, her face blank for a long moment. "Pardon?"

"You know, I scratch your back, you scratch mine," he said, smiling.

"I… I don't know," Chelsea said. "What would you like in return?"

"You have to help me convince Professor Granger to bring back Mr. Malfoy!" he said, perhaps too quickly.

"B-but…she said he isn't coming back, though," Chelsea said slowly.

"Yes, but he needs to," Adam expressed, ruffling his dark blonde hair absently. "He was supposed to teach us how to fly a broomstick and I really want to learn but no one here will teach us."

"I don't know," Chelsea said hesitantly. "There might be a reason he isn't around. I heard Dennis say he was a Slytherin."

"So?"

"That's the House that all the bad people come from, right?"

"I don't know," he said with a shrug. "Why would they make a House just for bad people? Wouldn't that kind of just make it worse, putting all those bad people together?"

"I don't know," Chelsea stressed.

"Is it a deal or not?" Adam asked, feeling antsy and a little impatient. He honestly didn't know why the girl didn't just find a stepping stool, but if she wanted his help so badly he wasn't going to deny her it. He just wanted some help in return.

After a slight pause, Chelsea said, "Sure."

Adam held out his hand for a shake.

Chelsea stared at it, her hands still gripping her skirt. Instead of shaking his hand, she clasped them behind her back, turning around and began walking back towards the manor. Bemused but too excited to care, Adam followed after her.

…~oOo~…

_Professor Granger,_

_We understand that there is trouble concerning Professor Malfoy's schedule that prevents him from teaching, but it has come to our attention that Moony's Academy would much benefit from his presence. We have met him only twice – the day of our luncheon and the day before classes – but we think he belongs here. Very much so. _

_We apologize deeply if this is inconvenient or overstepping. We just think he should come back, as he surely has a lot to offer. Such as flying lessons, extra potions classes, and flying lessons. These things are imperative to the growth and education of young witches and wizards according to many textbooks. _

_Thank you for taking the time to read this letter. Hopefully it wasn't too much of a bother. _

_Sincerely,_

_A. Nolan & C. Baker_

…~oOo~…

Draco wasn't sure why he was surprised to be woken up by Hermione Granger on Saturday morning. It should be something he expected. But no. When the Floo flared and in came a squealing accompanied by a voice saying, "Shush, Teddy, people are sleeping", Draco actually flinched awake, eyes shooting open and gasping.

When he almost knocked heads with Teddy trying to sit up, Draco realized what was happening.

He told himself he hated her. This was not the truth, which should also not be surprising. Draco rarely told the truth, especially to himself.

"What the fuck?" Draco demanded, sitting up on the sofa, still half asleep. Teddy was crawling up and onto his chest, the boy's hair becoming silvery blonde instantly and cooing like two-year-olds do.

"Language," Hermione admonished. "There is a child present."

"What are you doing here?" he asked, ignoring her scolding. "Don't you have a school to run?"

"It's Saturday and they're all at the Burrow to help Molly de-gnome the garden and get a change in scenery," Hermione said. "But we need to talk."

"Last time we talked, you fired me before I even started the job," Draco pointed out. "I can't say I'm eager to speak with you again."

"Whose fault is that, exactly?" Hermione said snappishly. "I'm not here to fight, Draco."

"Aren't you, though?"

"I'm not!" she insisted. And then she stopped abruptly, seeming to take in his appearance for the first time since she came in. "Good Merlin, what happened to your face?" Without warning or hesitation, she poked him hard in the cheekbone.

"Ouch!" Draco hissed, swatting away her finger. "Do you always stab people in the face when they've got a black eye?"

"What happened?" she asked again.

"Got in a bit of a row with Greyback," Draco said, waving it off. "Just a bit of Death Eater sport, I'm sure you understand. Or maybe you don't. Either way, I'm fine. I was just so bloody exhausted afterwards that I didn't have energy to put salve on it."

"You look awful," Hermione noted, only the smallest dash of concern in her tone. Sensitive Gryffindors, he internally scoffed.

"I thought I looked ruggedly handsome with it," Draco said stiffly.

Hermione was shaking her head. "Stay here. I'll be right back." She jogged to the kitchen.

Lying back again, Draco patted Teddy on the back. Draco bounced Teddy with his knee, the little boy giggling happily. "Good to see you, mate," Draco said under his breath. "Hasn't been the same around here without you."

A second later, Hermione was back with a jar of salve from the cabinet in her hand. "Sit up," she instructed. She was so bossy sometimes.

Instead of arguing it – he was too tired for that – he did as she said. She bent at the waist to look at his shiner even closer. She dipped two fingers into the jar and began rubbing the ripe-smelling paste onto his face. Draco didn't wince despite the fact it stung a little.

"What did you want to talk about?" he asked while she set to work on the bruise on his jaw as well.

Hermione sighed heavily. She pressed the jar of salve into his palm and used that hand to reach to her back pocket. She dropped a folded piece of parchment into his lap.

"What's that?" he asked.

Hermione stood up once more and screwed the lid back onto the jar. "Read it," she told him.

Opening it up, Draco read its contents. His eyes widened and he snorted. "Is this a joke?"

"It's not," Hermione said.

"A couple of your students want me to come back? Are your classes lacking so much that they're looking for replacements already?" Draco said, wryly amused.

"It's Adam," Hermione said, ignoring his jab at her teaching methods. "Every day this week he's asked one of us about broomsticks and flying."

"Why does the Baker girl care?"

Hermione shrugged. "I don't know. She doesn't talk much. Maybe she secretly wants to fly too, who knows. But this is obviously something that means a lot to Adam. He isn't an intellectual like Chelsea and doesn't take to the critters that Hagrid brings around like Yvette does. Only seven days have passed in the magical world for him and he's already bored. Flying would be the thing that gets him excited about being a wizard."

At length, Draco asked, "You're asking me to come back?"

"Just for flying lessons," Hermione clarified.

"Why me? Why not just get someone else?"

With a huff, Hermione said, "It doesn't take a Quidditch maniac to know that you're a talented flier, Malfoy. Even Harry knew it. After a few games, we all realized that even though you bribed your way onto the House team, you more than deserved the position." She paused. "Please don't make me stroke your ego further. Just come back."

Pretending to consider it deeply, Draco took his time stretching his arms and cracking his knuckles. Hermione's nose scrunched up. She didn't like the popping noise, apparently, so Draco made sure to crack his knuckles once more, even louder this time. Hermione sighed with impatience.

"I want to teach Defense," Draco said without preamble.

"No, we've already split up that duty."

"It will take some weight off the rest of you if you just gave me that class. You know Lovegood and Longbottom would appreciate it."

Rolling her eyes, Hermione said, "Fine. But you'll owe me and the students for making me rewrite the schedule _again_."

"Deal."

"Don't let me down again, Malfoy," Hermione said firmly.

"I can't promise I won't let you down again," Draco said, standing up while lifting Teddy into his arms. "But I can promise that I will try my best not to." He started walking out of the room.

"Where are you going?" Hermione asked, brow furrowed.

"Where do you think?" he said over his shoulder. "To get some broomsticks, obviously."

…

Hermione's desk faced the window, so when she looked up from her scrolls and tomes she could see Adam on Draco's first broom, swerving around over the garden and swooping down only to go straight up. He was a natural. Not as good as, say, Harry Potter – but it was a start. Through the glass, Hermione heard Draco's voice calling up to him from the ground and the bystanders' cheering.

So far Draco was doing an excellent job as flying instructor. Hermione smiled to herself absently before burying her head back into the books.

She was at a standstill in her research. She'd read everything there was written about horcruxes, the afterlife, the Veil, ghosts, corporeal beings, spirits, the theory of angels, purgatory, and so on. Everything in wizarding history and science. She had moved on to Muggle phenomenon, she was that desperate.

Harry's glass coffin had him thinking about Snow White, which then made her think of Sleeping Beauty and every other fairytale character put in a magical sleep. Hermione linked that back to wizarding science and found that no sleeping potion, curse, or spell would give such an exact image of death or last so long.

She wished she knew exactly what happened in the Forest that night. She should have gone with him, but he was made her and Ron promise to stay at Hogwarts and help the wounded.

Shaking away the memories and regrets, Hermione buried herself back into her reading with a vengeance.

She didn't look out her window, or at the clock, or anywhere else until the sky was already darkening and her head fell forward into page 244. Hermione was asleep.

…

After setting Teddy to bed after a long day of outdoor flying classes – where Teddy made a very small co-instructor – Draco decided he would find Hermione and let her know that Teddy was fed and asleep so that she didn't have to worry. He figured she knew this already because of Teddy's mood pendant that was linked to the charm she wore around her neck, but he wanted to tell her in person anyway. He didn't really know why.

He looked in the library first. Then her classroom.

Finding her in her bedroom was his Second Regret.

The door was ajar and from the threshold he saw her slumped figure. She was asleep at her desk, using a large textbook as a pillow. Smirking to himself, Draco considered if maybe she'd finally read herself to death. Her shoulders still moved and she made soft sighing sounds.

As he got closer, walking across the old floorboard gingerly, he saw that one of her hands, bent in a loose fist, sat next to her face, the thumb hanging from her parted lips. She was a thumb-sucker. For a moment he wondered how many people knew that and if maybe he was the only one who knew.

Then he was struck by just how…lovely the scene was. The sky was a deep blue-grey and the stars were poking out around the moon, which glowed so brightly, its light cast shadows on Hermione's face. Her hair, mahogany in the silver light, was seemingly everywhere, her curls lively even while she was still as a corpse. Her skin was white as a sheet and her lips were small, especially pink, and moist-looking. The few freckles on her nose stood out like a dusting of cinnamon. Her head was cradled almost lovingly by the book and…

And when the fuck did Draco become a poetic wanker?

Blinking and shaking his head, Draco got rid of every piece of purple prose, every flowery adjective that was suddenly swimming through his head.

Hermione was asleep on the book. Her window let moonlight through. She sucked her thumb. The end.

"Granger," he said aloud hesitantly. "Granger?"

She did nothing, her nose just twitched a little.

"Granger, I haven't got time for this," he said, poking her hard in the shoulder.

Still, she did not wake up. For someone who had experienced the horrors of war, she was one heavy sleeper, he thought.

With a heavy sigh, Draco dragged his hand down his face. So he would have to treat her like Teddy, then. Her bed was across the room, so it wouldn't be that hard and she was small enough. Crouching down to get level with where she sat, he took her around the armpits, pulling her up to lean against him and then, carefully, picked her up by the back of her thighs. If she woke up just then, he would have been fucked – she'd probably scream, accusing him of assaulting her in her sleep, inappropriately touching her, blah blah blah.

It wasn't his fault she was dead asleep.

It was only by the time he already had her in his arms the same way he'd hold Teddy that he realized it would have been a perfectly acceptable option to leave her where she was. Draco sighed and wanted to smack himself in the head, but his hands were too full with sleeping Hermione.

Then her reading material caught his eye. Shifting the weight of Hermione to one side – her head was lolled heavily against his shoulder – he looked over her desk.

The texts were a mix of both Light and Dark, which was nerve-wracking enough without the theme of the topics. After death, afterlife, spirits without physical forms…

"What the hell are you getting yourself into?" Draco murmured to himself.

As if hearing his voice, Hermione's arm circled his neck, clutching it tightly and mumbled something… "Harry…" was the word. Draco cringed. Of course. It was always all about the Golden Boy.

Something cold and metal was pressing into the nape of his neck with her hand. It was large, that much he could tell. He was confused. Hermione never wear jewelry apart from the small pendant she wore on a chain.

Draco tried to shake Hermione a little, try to get her to let go of his neck so he could see what kind of bracelet she was wearing. She wasn't budging. He huffed.

He didn't make three steps towards her bed until he heard a curious flapping. Like wings on a bird. He turned towards the noise. The curtains were fluttering in the breeze…

But the window wasn't open.

Swallowing, Draco watched the curtains for a long moment, watching them sway and dance. He felt no air moving through the room, no draft. Then, the invisible breeze began flipping the pages of the open book she'd been sleeping on. First slowly and then gaining speed, the pages turned in a blur. Her quill was twitching, her ink sloshing over the sides of its well.

In a short burst of panic, Draco turned to run to the door, but it abruptly slammed shut. The knob trembled.

"Holy shit," Draco uttered to himself, his eyes wide.

And then… Hermione gasped. And all of the movement halted.

Her head lifted slowly from his shoulder, her eyes blinking rapidly. She didn't look sleepy, but… shocked and a little confused.

"…Malfoy?" she said, looking astonished. Clumsily, she tore herself out of his arms. "What the bloody hell were you doing?"

Rolling his eyes, Draco said, "You fell asleep at your desk."

Hermione's nose crinkled unattractively. "No, I didn't."

Something was weird, Draco caught onto that right away. Hermione was carrying herself differently and didn't seem at all like she'd just woken from a deep sleep. And then there was the way that she was…

She was patting herself, everywhere, as if she was looking for something on her person or checking that she was solid. Patted her stomach, her back, her hips, and then…

"My God," Hermione mumbled, groping her own chest. "I'm really here… Well, I'm not here, but she is, and so am I…" Her voice was quiet and full of awe, her words fast. Normally Hermione spoke with impeccable diction and emphasis, but now her words were dragged together and rumbled.

Then Hermione's head snapped upward. "Malfoy, what the fuck are you doing in…" Her head whipped around, taking in the surroundings. "…Hermione's bedroom?" Her face was furious in an instant.

"You…" Draco hissed as his words trailed off and then he said with quiet certainty, "You aren't Granger…are you?" He took Hermione's body by the shoulders, careful but firm – even though someone obviously was in control of her, it was still a girl's body – and shook her. "Who are you and what have you done with Hermione? Where is she?" he growled.

"Still asleep, I think," Hermione's voice said, wriggling in Draco's hold. "Dreaming, I would imagine. She must have read something or figured something out. She must have…" Then she yanked up her wrist and her eyes widened as round as Quaffles at the sight. "The watch. She stole my watch."

There, on her wrist, was a heavy, slightly dented gold watch. It was obviously a man's watch and even at its tightest was loose around her slim wrist.

"I could give a fuck about that watch." Draco jerked Hermione's body closer and stared into her eyes, ready to use seriously invasive legilimency if necessary. "Tell me who you are. Now."

Hermione's eyes rolled. "I'm shocked you haven't figured it out. I'm Harry, you idiot!"

…~oOo~…

~ So Long And Thanks For All The Fish ~


	9. Chapter Eight: In Which the Savior's

A/N. Thank you for all the reviews last chapter! I hope you all continue to send me such lovely words and tell me what you think and express all of your theories! Everything you say makes my day!

I really struggled to write this chapter. I'm sorry if it shows. Just… it took forever to write everything I wanted to write the way I wanted to write it. And I'm still not happy with it, even if it is a thousand words longer than the other chapters.

Please Note: In my version of the final battle, Remus was still alive when Harry went to the Forest to be killed. This means he was not part of the Resurrection Stone scene, but this is not important. I just don't want a bunch of reviews bitching to me about how Remus already died and then have to explain AGAIN that this story is quite obviously NOT canon.

To clarify so it doesn't get confusing, Harry in Hermione's body will be referred to with male pronouns from now on while his physical appearance remains female.

…~oOo~…

Chapter Eight: In Which the Savior's Story is Told

"What curse did Harry Potter wound me with in the bathroom in Sixth Year – and which bathroom was it?" Draco commanded, the tip of his wand pressed into Hermione's throat.

He was still in shock. None of this made any sense to Draco so far. Harry Potter was well and truly dead, had been for two years. It didn't seem plausible for him to start making appearances in other people's bodies, watch be damned. He had no clue why "Harry" was so fixated on the watch anyway. Harry fiddled with it around Hermione's wrist anxiously.

Harry sighed. "Sectumsempra and it was the sixth floor boys' lavatory. You were talking to Moaning Myrtle too, in case you need further proof."

Slowly, and with no small amount of shock, Draco lowered his wand. The only other person who knew the details of that night was Snape, and Draco couldn't imagine a universe where Snape would possess Hermione's body and then proceed to pretend he'd Potter. So, Draco believed him. For now.

"Explain what's happening, Potter," Draco spat, freaked out by this turn of events. If he'd just never gone looking for her – if he hadn't cared – he wouldn't be the one face-to-face with Hermione's possessed body.

"I-I'm not entirely sure," Harry admitted, still shocked at his body, looking down at himself in absolute wonder. "But…I don't think I'm really here, you know? Because when I blink, I see… well, I see the station."

"What station?" Draco asked, nose wrinkled.

"King's Cross," Harry explained hesitantly. "Only it's…all white. And quite boring. It's where I've been for the last few weeks."

Shaking his head, trying to grasp hold of what Potter was saying, Draco said, "Few weeks? Potter, you've been dead for more than two years."

Harry's borrowed eyes went wide like saucers. "No. No, that can't be it. I haven't been gone that long!"

"Yes, you have. It's the year 2000. Almost 2001."

Harry sputtered for a minute. "B-but… it didn't seem that long at all. If I'd know, I'd have tried contacting her sooner – not that I'd exactly been trying when it happened, it was all so quick – and – who knows – maybe I've missed my chance –"

"My God, Potter, will you shut up already and explain exactly what's been happening?"

Blinking, Harry looked at Draco curiously and suspiciously. "I still don't know why you're in Hermione's room."

Rolling his eyes, Draco said, "The idiot fell asleep on her desk. I was being a Good Samaritan and putting her in bed. End of story. Now explain everything."

"I'd be more than happy to, but first, I'd kill for a cuppa."

Draco gaped. "You're certifiably raised from the grave and all you can think about is tea?"

"If you hadn't eaten or drank anything for what is apparently nearly three years, you'd be thirsty too." Harry marched straight to the door, opened it and looked outside. Then he turned back to Draco. "Okay, where are we?"

"Mould-on-the-Wold," Draco said. "Dumbledore's childhood home."

"Why the hell are we _here_?"

"It's a school now."

"_What happened to Hogwarts_?" Harry panicked, his voice pitching even higher.

"There's a lot to talk about," Draco said. "Maybe some tea isn't a bad idea."

…

This sucked, Draco thought. Easily one of the worst nights of his life – and he'd been Cruicio'd only a few days before. His luck was shit. First his mind goes off on this elaborately girly description of Hermione slumbering in the moonlight, then Harry Fucking Potter is back from the dead and occupying Hermione's body – and now he had no bloody idea where all the tea things in the kitchen were because that was Hermione's job.

Draco stood with Harry in the kitchen, both staring confusedly at the kitchen set-up. It was unfamiliar and there were far too many cabinets and cupboards and drawers.

"Well, go on," Harry prompted, sounding a little impatient. "I don't know where anything is."

"Granger makes the tea."

"Huh?"

"I don't know where anything is because Granger always makes the tea."

"We really need to catch up," Harry stressed. "Because I'm trying to conjure up a situation in my head where Hermione would be making tea for you on a regular basis and I am coming up blank, frankly. Let's start with a kettle."

As they began looking for where exactly the kettle was kept, Harry began to talk. "I died that night in the Forest," Harry said, opening and closing a lower cabinet.

"No shit," Draco mumbled under his breath. _It's your fault I can't be happy,_ he thought bitterly. _If you'd lived… I just know things would have been different…_

Harry hadn't heard him. "And when I died, I found myself in King's Cross Station…only everything was white. It was…so strange. At first, at least. After a little while of it, it loses its mysterious appeal and really just has the ambiance of a loony bin. It drove me mad, that's for sure.

"Anyway, at first Dumbledore was there. He came to talk to me, I guess. We talked for a while and explained that the Horcrux part of me had been killed, but to kill it, the rest of my own soul had to bring it to its place of rest. I still don't really understand it. But I think what it means is…Voldemort killed the Horcrux, but my own soul was a sort of vessel for it. While my soul wasn't killed, it was trapped. Lost in between – ooh, I've found it!" Harry announced abruptly, holding up the coveted kettle.

Harry went to fill the kettle with water and Draco really hated just then that Harry was in Hermione's body. It wasn't right for Harry to be filling the kettle – he was too damned clumsy. Suddenly, Draco longed for the way Hermione would hum as she readied the tea, just chuckling to herself when Draco scoffed and complained about her infernal singing.

Draco wished this wasn't happening to him. It was making him realize too much.

"Well, don't stop there," Draco urged. "Between what, exactly? And where's Hermione? You didn't trade places with her, did you? Because I swear I'll kill you if you did." He felt his heart rapidly beating, hard into his ribs at the prospect.

"I told you, she's still sleeping," Harry said, sounding offended. "I can… I can sort of feel her. You know, in here." He touched his temple. "I can't really explain it, but I know I didn't trade with her. I'd never risk Hermione's life like that. And when did you start caring so much about Hermione? Tucking her in and worrying after her well-being?" Harry's face – well, Hermione's face – went ghostly white in an instant. "Christ. Are you two married or something? Please tell me you aren't married, I won't be able to handle that. I might just die _again_."

Anger sparked in Draco's chest. How stupid was Harry Potter to assume that he and Hermione were together? Apparently, he'd gotten all of Hermione's looks and none of the brains. Draco wanted to punch Harry, but that would mean leaving a bruise on Hermione's body and he wasn't prepared to do that.

Anyway, so what if he and Hermione were married? What was so abhorrent about the concept?

"What if we are?" Draco sneered. "What's it to you?"

Harry went positively green. "I think I might vomit."

"Hold your lunch, Potter," Draco hissed with rolled eyes. "Granger and I are not married."

The relief was obviously crushing. "Thank God. I mean, I know you defected – you were fighting with us at Hogwarts – but I can only take so much news in one night, you know? Being able to sneak into Hermione's body was shocking enough."

What a sissy, Draco thought with a frown. "Whatever. Putting aside completely irrelevant person information, move on. You were saying that you've been… lost?" Draco came upon a drawer filled with different types of teas. They weren't leaves, but instead bags, but it would do. He chose two bags of Earl Grey.

"Is there English Breakfast in there?" Harry asked, reaching over.

"You're getting what I choose, end of story," Draco snapped, shoving the door shut and almost slamming Harry's fingers. "Go on with your story." Not that he necessarily wanted to hear a word of it. He was wishing more and more than he could just hex and beat Harry until his was nothing but a quivering pulp. Maybe he could beat Harry out of Hermione's body.

Harry's eyes weren't his though. Instead of that obnoxious green everyone was always going on about, they were a caramel-chocolate brown. Instead of the tall, skinny guy with stupid black hair, his body was dainty and small.

Draco was close to exploding. He didn't know how much longer he could hold it down. It was all Harry Potter's fault. If he'd just survived like he was bloody well supposed to…

"So, I was lost between worlds," Harry continued. Then he paused. "You know, every moment I was in there was spent thinking of two things. One, how to destroy the last of the Horcruxes. Two, how to tell my story once I returned. And in none of the scenarios was I telling Draco Malfoy my tale."

"I don't know why you are," Draco said suspiciously. "I mean, how do you know to trust me at all? How do you know I know about Horcuxes at all?"

"Because Hermione trusts you," Harry said, his voice quieting a little. "I can feel that too."

Even Draco was surprised to hear that. Granger trusted him? Why?

"I was lost between worlds," Harry said for the third time. "Still am, I suppose."

"What does that mean?"

"I'm not dead," Harry said slowly. "But I'm not alive either. Even here, borrowing Hermione's body, I'm still there. When I close my eyes, I can see the station. I guess two things can't occupy the same space."

"Okay, well…why don't you possess your own body? It's back at Grimmauld Place, in the attic."

Harry paused. "Ignoring the fact that you've been keeping my body in an attic, I will tell you why I don't think that will work. First, Hermione is alive. I could feel her heartbeat around me and clutched onto it. It felt warm and… alive. I won't be able to latch onto a dead body."

Closing his eyes for a moment, Draco considered finding someone else to listen to Potter and fix his dead problems. But the first person he would have chosen would have been Hermione the Brainiac. Currently, though, that was impossible.

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. This sucked.

"Do you… do you think you'd be able to do this again? Say, tomorrow night? After I've spoken with Granger?"

Harry's eyes went huge. "But… what if I can't do this again? What if this is my only chance to come back?"

"It's not like you can live in Granger's body forever," Draco snapped. "Just try again tomorrow night."

Harry frowned deeply, obviously annoyed. "I thought we've concluded that time moves differently at the Station."

"You're aware of it now, aren't you? Just make sure you don't take a really long nap or something because when you wake up Granger could be an old woman on her deathbed and then where would you be?

"Face the facts, Potter," Draco said, though it felt weird to do so. "There's too much risk in telling others about your…situation. And the only person who can really do anything about it is Granger. You need to go back to wherever you came from and give her time to work everything out. If anyone can, she can. Now, quit your whining, and leave her bloody body already before I burn your corpse and remove all possibilities of you coming back, understand?"

After staring at Draco for a long moment, Harry asked, "Why are you being so…decent?"

Draco scowled darkly. "Would you like me to be less decent? Because I assure you, it wouldn't be difficult."

"No, no. I'm just wondering why you haven't cursed me or abandoned me, or… I don't know. Anything that the Draco Malfoy I know would do."

"It's simple," the blonde man said, standing straight, his face a mask. "I'm _not_ the Draco Malfoy you knew."

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but then flinched when his necklace began to get warm. "Huh?" he muttered, raising his hand to his collarbone. "What's this?" The pendant was glowing mellow orange.

"Teddy's woken up," Draco said. He knew the orange meant Teddy was crying, but it wasn't urgent yet, but could be soon. "I better go –"

Suddenly, Harry's eyelids were fluttering manically, his eyes whipping left and right, up and down. "M-Malfoy," Harry whispered, his hand gripping the counter as his body began to jerk and twitch.

Draco, not knowing what to do, grabbed Harry's shaking shoulders to hold him upright. He tried to say something, anything, but nothing came from Draco's mouth. What was happening? Why was Harry – or Hermione's body – seizing so intensely?

Then the body went limp. Draco caught it under its armpits, the face of Hermione bent forward into his chest heavily. It stayed that way for a long time.

…

"Potter?" Draco whispered, but he had a feeling his guess was wrong.

"Mmm," the voice said. Slowly, the eyes opened and the chest heaved in a very deep breath. Looking around, Hermione looked sleepy and confused as she asked, "Where am I?" She paused. "Was I…sleepwalking?"

"Er…" Draco mumbled.

"What…what are you doing?" Hermione asked, her voice slurred with sleep. Her bleary eyes were looking at his arms supporting her, perplexed. Then her hand snapped up to her necklace. "Teddy! Teddy's awake." Pulling away from Draco, she started towards the kitchen door and towards the staircases.

Then it hit Draco. The pendant. Hermione had woken up because she felt the pendant get warm and knew that Teddy was awake. Harry hadn't been all that in control of Hermione, after all. She had the will to wake up on her own and send him back.

Having information was good. If he collected facts, he could give them to Hermione and…

The kettle started to whistle. He quickly took it off the burner and thought about what had just happened. It was all so fast, too fast.

Draco's head was spinning. And it appeared that Hermione had no clue what happened. With a very deep breath and a few moments to compose himself, Draco finished making the two cups of tea. He took them in each hand and followed after Hermione.

Draco found her in Teddy's room. Teddy was whimpering, muttering the word "'Mione" over and over, tears running down his face while she held him tightly to her chest, his little head resting on her shoulder. When Draco slipped in, Teddy saw him and immediately tucked his face into Hermione's neck instead.

But when Draco saw Hermione's face, he wondered if he was wrong in assuming Hermione hadn't known about Potter. She looked pensive and haunted, gnawing on her lower lip harshly, her brows drawn downward and together, staring at the carpet while she paced with Teddy in her arms.

When she saw Draco, she gave a little jump and said, "Oh. Malfoy. What are you…?"

"Tea," he said, holding up the cup. He set a cup down on the changing table.

Hermione looked like she was about to question him – accusing him of something, maybe – but instead just said, "Thank you."

"We need to talk," Draco said firmly.

After a small hesitation, Hermione said, "Alright. I'll meet you in the library after Teddy falls back to sleep."

With a nod, Draco left the nursery and made his way across the manor towards the library.

…

"We're going to get caught."

"We will if you keep talking. Shh!"

"We have a curfew for a reason, you know! It could be dangerous!"

"We aren't leaving the house, Chelsea. It's not like we're skipping off across the perimeter and into the forest. I thought you wanted my help."

"I do! But you've already helped me get down that letter. I don't get why we're going back!"

"Aren't you at all curious who wrote it? Or who it was to?"

Chelsea said nothing. Of course she wanted to know! It had been nagging at her since the morning when Adam had reached up in the closet and taken it down. The envelope had been yellowed with age and the correspondence itself had been intimate and romantic.

Chelsea had only ever read of love letters, never did she imagine them actually being written. It seemed fanciful and old-fashioned. Something out of Jane Austen novels.

The wizarding world was different, though. Maybe people did write love letters, still. Maybe it wasn't a lost art.

They were tip-toeing barefoot along the dark corridors of the manor. Adam had sneaked out once he heard the watch-portrait – the lady with the pink hair – snoring. He'd grabbed Chelsea from her room, insisting they continue their adventure.

"Are you sure we won't get caught?" Chelsea squeaked for the tenth time.

Adam sighed, rolling his eyes. "Chelsea, there are four instructors here. This manor is massive and they sleep all the way on the other side. Trust me when I say we are not going to get caught."

Chewing her thumbnail, Chelsea wasn't sure whether or not to believe him. Sure, they got lucky that Mrs. Lupin had fallen asleep in her frame, but still… Their instructors were experienced witches and wizards. They weren't stupid and they had magic. They probably knew they were out of bed. It was only a matter of time before they were caught.

And then there was the little voice deep inside her, squealing with excitement. She stifled this voice. Breaking the rules was not supposed to be fun. But Chelsea had never broken the rules before. She'd never had a friend, and she certainly never had a friend to break the rules with. She was torn between right and the thrilling wrong.

She wasn't going to risk losing her first friend, though. That much she knew.

Back in the room where they'd found the love letter, Adam immediately went to the closet. He stretched up, looking for more stuff on the ledge, and found nothing. He began poking around the closet, pushing on the wall with a might grunt and then trying to shake the shelf itself.

"What are you doing?" Chelsea asked.

"Looking for trap doors or hidey-holes," Adam said as if it should have been obvious.

"What am I supposed to do?" Chelsea asked.

"Er… How about you look for hollowed floorboards? Really carefully. It might be as undetectable as a loose nail," he said.

Chelsea carefully got onto her knees, the wooden floor hard against her knees. Her nightgown left her cold, as the cotton wasn't made for midnight explorations of a large, drafty manor. On the floor, she methodically began tapping and trying to shake floorboard, listening for any hint of hollowness. It wasn't long before Adam gave up on the closet and joined her.

…

Draco looked straight forward, not really seeing the hallway around him. He was lost in his thoughts, moving in the direction he knew the library to be.

Despite what had happened – Harry Potter's temporary return – he couldn't bring himself to dwell on it.

But it was Draco's lack of focus that caused him to be so shocked when a small body rammed into him, right in the stomach.

"What the –?" Draco sputtered. He instinctively grabbed the arm of the figure to keep it from hitting the ground. That's when he realized who it was. "Miss Lane?"

Yvette's blonde hair fell into two perfect braids over her shoulders, the ends curling perfectly. She wore a pair of matching pink button-up pajamas and fuzzy slippers. She looked like a doll, a really annoying doll.

"Miss Lane, what are you doing out of bed?" Draco demanded.

"I was running for a teacher, I swear! It's Adam and Chelsea, they're out of bed!" Yvette immediately announced, loudly and proudly.

This was not the night for this. Draco's blood boiled. "Where?" he hissed.

With a little flounce, Yvette gladly led him straight to where Adam and Chelsea were. It was an old bedroom, one of the many empty ones around the house. The two children, on their hands and knees crawling around the floor, did not notice his arrival in the doorway. Yvette stood behind Draco, looking the picture of innocence, hands folded in front of her, eyes wide and small smile on her lips.

Draco had been very right about his original evaluation of Yvette Lane. She was too much like him. He would reflect more on that later.

"_Just what do you think you two are doing_?" Draco said, her voice low, but it still echoed against the bare walls.

Adam and Chelsea were up off the floor so fast it was a blur. They looked suitably embarrassed and ashamed and Draco couldn't help but notice Chelsea take a small step behind Adam, her head down.

They each said nothing.

"I believe I asked you a question," Draco said, his eyes narrowed and his body taut. Any night but tonight. Why did it have to be tonight?

"We were…we were exploring, sir," Adam said hesitantly.

Oh, he'd be a Gryffindor for sure. The girl a Hufflepuff, likely. He couldn't help but hate them a little. "And there is not enough time before curfew to do this 'exploring'?"

"W-we…we were just curious. I made Chelsea come with me, you see," Adam said quickly. "I didn't want to be alone. It's all my fault, sir."

Draco's silvery eyes shifted between Adam and Chelsea. "You two wrote the letter," Draco said, his voice quiet and smooth, but thick with anger. "The one to…Miss Granger. About flying instruction."

Adam blinked, but he nodded in obvious confusion.

"You both have a lot of nerve," Draco sneered. "Making a request, having it approved, and then repaying your instructors by breaking the rules. Were you…ungrateful?"

"No, not at all, sir!" Adam said, his voice getting higher pitched while Chelsea, looking mortified, whipped her head back and forth in denial.

"Don't you realize that you could have been hurt? Put yourself in danger? You are not familiar with this house and it was owned by one of the most powerful wizards in history! _Did you not think about the consequences_?"

That last part had come out of Draco's mouth far louder than he'd intended. Swimming through his mind were the images of the dark texts and ancient tomes littered across Hermione's desk. What if Hermione had found something that had invited Harry into her body? What if she had done something wrong, causing that reaction? What if she had unintentionally traded places with Golden Boy Potter all in her desperation to get him back?

_Why hadn't she thought about the consequences?_

All three children stared him, scared and puzzled. He obviously hadn't been talking about them just then, but they didn't know what this meant. They didn't know how much Draco was panicking.

At length, Draco took a deep, slightly trembling breath and stared the children down. "All three of you will have detention all of next week. Evenings, after supper, with me."

"_Three_ of us? I was getting a teacher!" Yvette squeaked.

Draco could not hide his grim smile. This was the scariest sort of déjà vu. He now saw everything through McGonagall's eyes and completely understood it. It kind of felt good as he said, paraphrasing the great deputy headmistress's words, "You heard me correctly, Miss Lane. You see… _honorable_ as your intentions were, you too were out of bed after hours. You will join your classmates in detention."

Yvette was fuming. She crossed her little arms and glared holes into the floor. Chelsea was slumped and crying silently while Adam's face was red to the hairline with chagrin.

"Now to bed. All three of you," Draco snapped. "And I _will_ know if you take a detour. Is that understood?"

They nodded and shuffled out of the room.

Once they were gone, Draco went boneless against the wall, dragging his hands down his face. He wasn't daft. He knew his explosion at the kids had been misplaced concern for someone he had no business being concerned for.

What was happening to him?

…~oOo~…

~ So Long And Thanks For All The Fish ~


	10. Chapter Nine: In Which Someone Needs

A/N. I'm so happy that most of you seemed to like the last chapter despite my trouble with it.

So, I've started writing for another HP related website, called RofPM . com. It's full of articles about the series, digging deeper into the Harry Potter world. There are factual articles as well as fanfiction-ish things. Mine, however, will be the tale of the Marauders in school through Sirius Black's journal entries. It will be called Padfoot's Corner, I think. My first entry will be posted next Monday.

I would like to thank Sharon (you know who you are, Sharon!) for asking me to write for the site, I'm very much looking forward to it!

…~oOo~…

Chapter Nine: In Which Someone Needs A Haircut

Draco was more aware of Hermione's presence than ever. It wasn't something he wanted. Quite the opposite, he wished he could stop. But the next morning he woke up and felt like every sense of his was sharpened. He hadn't even slept well. He'd barely slept at all.

Once he'd finally made it to the library the night before, he was in no mood to think about Harry Potter or talk to Hermione Granger.

"_What held you up?" Hermione asked, standing as Draco entered the library. "I thought you'd be here before me."_

"_All of the First Years were out bed," Draco said lowly, feeling exhausted. _

"_My goodness," Hermione said with mild surprise. "Did you punish them?"_

"_Detention all next week," he said dismissively. _

"_Oh. Well. Alright, so what we need to talk about –"_

"_Granger," Draco cut in as delicately as he could, but it still seemed to come out curt. "I don't think tonight would be a good night to have this conversation."_

_Hermione's eyes were wide and round, her brow furrowed in concern and a little bemusement. "Er… Is something bothering you?"_

"_You have no idea," Draco said under his breath. He never let his eyes meet hers. He could barely look at her. "I just need rest tonight. Today has been… trying."_

_After a small hesitation, Hermione nodded and she said, "I understand. Go rest, Malfoy. And have a Sunday sleep-in if it will help. You deserve it."_

He'd left after that last remark. Gone to his bed. Tossed and turned for hours. Finally fell asleep. Slept like a corpse for four blissful hours. Was woken by a loud screeching boy banging on his door and Hermione's voice scolding Teddy for being rowdy and bothering Draco.

It was that moment he decided he would never have kids. Teddy was alright, granted, but he could not handle the constant attention for more than a few days at a time.

But through the door as he was waking from his sleep, Hermione's stern voice telling Teddy to calm down was so clear, clear like the ringing of a silver bell. Once Teddy was dragged away against his will, her voice leaving with him, Draco's bedroom was left in a silence more prominent than he'd ever heard before.

This was getting weird.

Draco forced himself from the bed and made his way down to the kitchen. There he found the pungent scent of freshly brewed coffee and citrus. There were a bowl of bright oranges on the counter. He ignored them and went straight for the coffee.

Draco felt her enter before he saw her. It was a creepy feeling that tingled in his spine behind him. Turning his head, it was confirmed. Hermione had arrived.

"You should eat something," Hermione said, going to the bowl and grabbing one of the massive oranges.

Draco said nothing, just sipped his black coffee, not wincing once as it burned his tongue and left a bitter aftertaste in his throat.

"You've lost weight," Hermione noted.

"So have you," Draco shot back, raising an eyebrow challengingly.

With a sigh, Hermione said, "Can't you just… let me be concerned for you?"

"I don't need your concern," Draco answered. "It feels too much like pity.

"It's not pity," Hermione said with certainty. "Everyone needs someone to worry about them. For you, that's me. Is that so awful?"

He said nothing, just stared into his mug and the dark reflection of his face in the coffee. Hermione had always had this tendency to mother boys and play caretaker. It was how it'd been with Ron and Harry. Well, now Harry was kind-of dead and Ron was travelling. She needed a new project. These projects just so happened to end up being the small school and Draco.

He wondered if Harry did in fact rise from the dead if everything would go back to the way it once was.

"We need to have that talk," he said, changing the subject. "Where are all the kids and Teddy?"

"Andromeda arrived at Grimmauld Place this morning. She believes that she was being followed in France. I dropped Teddy off for some time with her about an hour ago."

"Followed? By whom?"

Hermione shook her head firmly. "No more stalling this conversation." Her face became serious in an instant. "Last night I had the strangest dream and then woke up in the kitchen, in your arms. What happened?

She never was one to beat around the bush.

Sitting down at the kitchen table, Draco leaned back in the chair, stretching his legs and asked, "What kind of dream?"

"Is that important?" Hermione asked evasively.

"It very well could be," he replied, acting at ease. But really his insides were clenching terribly and throbbing uncomfortably. He didn't know how exactly to express that Harry Potter might not truly be dead.

Steadily, Hermione took a seat near Draco at the table. She seemed to be assembling her thoughts. Neither seemed to know how to speak just then.

"I had a dream," Hermione said, testing each word carefully, "that…Harry was back."

Draco knew then that the Boy Who Might Have Died and Hermione Granger were linked in a way he couldn't fathom. With another swallow of coffee, he told the story of the night before.

…~oOo~…

Chelsea's arm hurt from scrubbing the inside of the cauldron. A sticky, black substance was coating the inside of it. It smelt like black licorice and onions, making Chelsea wrinkle her nose as she went about rubbing at it with soap and a holey rag.

"This is so disgusting!" Yvette whined at another desk. "There has to be some wizarding child labor law against this!"

"On the contrary, at Hogwarts, you were lucky if you got off with cauldron scrubbing," Draco Malfoy said with his feet propped up on the teacher's desk at the front of the classroom. "In my First Year, I was given detention with my arch nemesis in the Forbidden Forest in the middle of the night. Be grateful."

"If it was forbidden, why did they send you there?" Yvette asked with an attitude that made Adam roll his eyes. Chelsea smirked at his reaction and Adam tossed her a wink.

Professor Malfoy smirked. "That's what I said. But upon reflection of my early life at Hogwarts, I was a little prick and probably deserved it."

Chelsea's eyes widened. She'd never heard someone who was supposed to be a teacher use vulgar language before. She blushed and continued about her scrubbing. She had no idea what had been brewed in the cauldron, but it must have been awful to make because the smell was definitely getting to her.

"Gentleman shouldn't swear in front of ladies," Yvette said, her nose in the air.

Raising an eyebrow, Malfoy said, "I guess I'm not a gentleman, then. Miss Lane, I am seeing a distinct lack of scrubbing and an overabundance of talking coming from you. I'd suggest spending less time trying to teach me manners and more of it finishing your punishment."

With a huff and a dramatic gag, Yvette dipped her hand into the cauldron once more.

"Only two more days of this," Adam whispered to Chelsea.

Chelsea nodded. "It's not that bad, I guess," she said meekly. "I used to wash the dishes at home all the time. It's not all that differently."

"No dishwasher?" Adam asked in awe.

Chelsea shook her head. They couldn't afford a dishwasher at home.

Everyone looked towards the door when they heard it creek open. In came Professor Granger, wearing a sweater with a large H on it. It was a dark blue color and the letter a bright gold and the sleeves hung too long on her, covered her hands almost completely. Her hair was pinned up like it usually was, a few curls bouncing out of the pins. She waltzed right up to Malfoy and went behind the desk to hand him a piece of parchment.

Chelsea watched as Malfoy's eyes scanned over the letter and then looked up at her with obvious annoyance. He said something under his breath that obviously annoyed Granger in turn. She gave him a pointed look and whispered something, her hands gesturing earnestly. But he was shaking his head.

Granger dipped down to whisper something into his ear, which seemed to make him uncomfortable. Chelsea saw Malfoy's whole body stiffen and his eyes close tensely. Maybe he didn't like people in his personal space. He did seem to be an intensely private person.

"No," Malfoy said, just loud enough for all of the students to hear.

"Mind if we speak in private?" Granger said quietly.

"Can't you see I'm doing something?" he growled.

"You're impossible!" she said, louder than she obviously intended, seeing as she reflexively covered her mouth a moment later. Her eyes looked over the children before she whispered something again. Malfoy's reply prompted her to leave, looking agitated and ready to whip out her wand at a moment's notice.

Malfoy looked up and saw all three children staring at him.

"What are you gawking at?" he snarled. "Get back to work."

They immediately did.

…

She was insane. Talking about summoning ghosts and all of that nonsense. She was desperate enough to delve into the realm of Divination, which pissed him off, but then to actually suggest trying to summon Harry with a darker branch of Divination involving blood ceremonies. He could kill her, he really could.

Draco was angry and wished Hermione would stop her nattering and research. He told her that she'd have to wait for Harry to initiate the connection again and was tired of stressing the fact that, no, Harry was not a ghost. She was not content with leaving a note addressed to Harry on her bedside every night and waiting for him to find a way back into her body.

And he was tired of Hermione harassing him about details of his and Potter's conversation, demanding to know if he was forgetting anything or leaving anything out. She was acting like they were best buddies and it drove him mad. He had things to do beside cater to her every whim concerning Harry Potter.

What he hated more was that he was growing fond of her annoying voice and constant chattering.

What was even more depressing than that was how aware he was of the fact that if he hadn't just so happened to be around when Potter possessed her body, she wouldn't have much to do with him at all.

So this was what being used felt like.

And he knew that the reason she was so neck-deep in research was because of Teddy's return to Grimmauld to be with his grandmother. Hermione was upset, even if she wouldn't admit it and was using books to distract herself from the fact that Teddy's nursery at Mould-on-theWold was empty.

Which made Draco angry with Andromeda. How dare she run off with her shame only to return acting like nothing had changed, taking her grandson back like Hermione hadn't been his primary caregiver for so long. Because of his frustration towards his aunt, Draco had refused every request she'd made to have tea with him.

Following the three brats' detentions, Draco went out in search of Hermione – to steal all of her reading material and lock her in her room so that she'd stop bothering him and finally get some sleep.

When he found her though, he was brought up short.

She sat at her desk in the library, face in her hands, and shaking. She was silent, but he knew she was crying even though no wailing or sobbing was involved. She was a quiet crier, which was disconcerting in itself.

Draco watched on, careful to make no noise with his breathing or shift of body weight. Then he saw was sat in front of her. The pendant that linked her with Teddy.

He'd been more intuitive than he thought. Four full days without Teddy was already too much for her.

Everything she cared about was slowly disappearing, it seemed. That must have been how she saw it. Harry. Ron, in a way. Now Teddy. And her latest project was a spy who did nothing was snap at and berate her.

The only reason why Draco knew what she was feeling was because he knew that sensation too. The loneliness of having everything fall apart and being alone in the remains of what was once a life. Hell, even he was depressed over Teddy's leave, which brought back his devastation from the war with a vengeance.

It made him want to give up. It made him want to fight harder. It made him want to die.

Hermione was a strong girl. Seeing her vulnerable made him lose a little bit of faith. If Hermione Granger was losing it, what was everyone else's chances?

"Malfoy?" Hermione sniffed, turned in her seat towards him. Draco was yanked from his reverie and registered her embarrassment and sorrow.

Without his usual hostility and without sarcasm, Draco said, "Go to bed, Granger."

Her lower lip wobbled and she shook her head slightly.

"You have to," Draco said, firmer.

"I won't be able to sleep," she said weakly.

"I'll get you some Dreamless Sleep."

"But what if Harry can't –"

"Don't worry about Potter tonight," he cut in. "Worry about yourself for once." He paused for a moment. "Why don't you spend the night at Grimmauld?"

Hermione's eyes went wide. "I couldn't! There's class tomorrow and –"

"Do you want to see Teddy or not?" he said, harsher than he'd meant it.

And she started crying again, tears falling over her cheeks and her lip trembling. But she nodded.

"Then come on. I can do your History of Magic lesson tomorrow morning."

Without warning, Hermione was crashing into Draco's chest. Her arms were wrapped tightly around his chest, her face pressed into his shirt. Draco didn't dare touch her back, simply waited for her to be done.

"Thank you," she said.

"There's nothing to thank me for. An idiot could have come up with that solution."

"I meant for taking my class."

"It's no big deal, really," he said, a little exasperated. She was so sensitive sometimes. "I'll tell them to read a chapter and get some reading done or something."

"You're a lot kinder than you portray yourself to be," she said.

"Stop it, for the love of Merlin."

"Alright," she said with a small chuckle, pulling away and sniffling. She rubbed at her eyes and looked significantly brighter. "I'll go get my things." She hesitated. "What if Harry comes back?"

"He likely won't."

"But if he does?"

"Leave a new note on your bedside. Write that you can't be bothered this evening. Anything. Just go."

With a short nod, Hermione was practically running out of the library.

Draco had no idea why he felt sad.

…~oOo~…

Waking the next morning, Hermione was momentarily disoriented. Something about the room she was in wasn't right. But then she remembered going to Grimmauld. Tucking Teddy in, telling him a story, giving him a cuddle.

She didn't remember waking up for him, though, or how he came to be curled up next to her in the bed. He must climbed out of his crib – it wouldn't be the first time – and sneaked into Hermione's room. She was happy he did, though. Teddy was always so adorable when he was sleeping, never failing to make her day brighter just be being there.

Teddy was sucking on his thumb soundly, his pink hair untidy in that baby-bedhead way, smelling faintly of baby oil. His other hand was clutched firmly around one of Hermione's locks of hair.

"I wish I didn't have to let you go," Hermione said quietly to Teddy, hugging his little body close. He wiggled in his sleep, shifting his head to her chest for a pillow. "You make everything okay. I love you dearly. You're my little boy and that's something I can't…" As the tears came on again, she took a deep breath and pushed them back. "That's something I can't let go of. But Andromeda needs you more." She sighed.

Hermione lifted her wrist to look at the time. Harry's dented watch was reliable after she'd fixed it. Blinking at the numbers, she decided it was time to get up. It was already halfway through the History of Magic lesson that Draco had taken over for her.

That man was full of surprises lately, she thought.

Gathering Teddy to her chest, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, the little boy still sound asleep as she stood up.

Then she saw the note on her bedside. She'd written Harry a note just in case and left it open flat on her bedside. Now, though, the paper was folded in half.

With a pang of fear and excitement, Hermione flipped open the note.

At the bottom, in handwriting far messier than hers, were the words:

_Give my godson a kiss good morning for me. _

It was signed with a lightning bolt.

Hermione couldn't stop her smile. She'd recognize Harry's chicken scratch anywhere. Tucking the note away in the drawer, Hermione pressed a kiss to Teddy's forehead for his godfather, and started out of the room.

Andromeda was already awake in the kitchen with a collection of other residents, all going about buttering their toast and fixing their tea. In her robe, Andromeda's light brown hair was all piled on top of her head wavy and soft-looking as she already was getting some breakfast for Teddy ready.

Andromeda beamed when she saw her grandson, reaching out for him. "Hello, darling!" she said, which roused him from his sleep. He blinked and looked to be grouchy – like he usually was before he had a bottle.

He babbled nonsensically.

"Why isn't he speaking yet?" Andromeda asked Hermione curiously.

"He speaks," Hermione said, a tad defensive for Teddy. "He can carry out whole conversations. I'm just not sure what language it's in. I don't think he knows either."

Goodheartedly, Andromeda chuckled. "Well, we'll work on that more, won't we, Ted?"

With a hidden frown, Hermione poured herself some tea. She couldn't help but feel a little insulted. Teddy was perfect even if he only said a few real words. He would get there. Right now there were so many people talking for him, he has no reason to speak on his own. Hermione hadn't a doubt in his mind that he could, the problem was he didn't want to.

"Hermione, there are a few boys upstairs unpacking that are looking forward to seeing you," Andromeda added, giving Hermione a friendly wink.

Brow furrowed, Hermione inquired, "Who?"

The answer was a very big hug from behind, squeezing her hard. She looked down. The hands of the hugger were dusted lightly with freckles. When she turned her head she caught sight of shaggy ginger hair.

"'Mione, I am so happy to see you," Ron said, not letting go.

"Oh my God! Ron!" Hermione enthused, twisting in his grasp and hugging him back, hard. Her feet dangled off the ground as he embraced her. She laughed, a mixture of joy and shock. "When'd you get back?"

"Only an hour ago," Ron answered, chuckling. She noted his hair was damp. "Viktor is upstairs taking a shower. Roughing it in Latvia for the last week makes one a bit ripe, if you know what I mean. I tackled him for the first shower."

Hermione giggled, brushing Ron's hair back from his face affectionately. "Your hair is too long."

He snorted. "I wasn't stopping for a barber, 'Mione."

"I know," she said, grinning. "I'll give you a trim."

"I kind of like it longish!"

"Oh, no, you and Bill, I swear!"

They both laughed and hugged tighter for a long minute. Then she was hit by something.

She gasped in excitement. "Ron, you've got to come see the new school!"

Ron's face went blank and clueless as he said, "Huh?"

…~oOo~…

~ So Long And Thanks For All The Fish ~


	11. Chapter Ten: In Which There Is A Fight

A/N. I think I've bruised my rib and it hurts so badly. Picking up Remus has been hard and so has cleaning up around the house. Does anyone know any good remedies for bruised/injured ribs or just pain in general? All suggestions would be appreciated greatly.

So, Ron is back! Let's see how this goes…

While I wrote this, Remus and I watched Hellboy. For a six month old, he liked that movie quite a bit. He couldn't turn away. Good to know he's inherited my taste in movies.

…~oOo~…

Chapter Ten: In Which There Is A Fight

"What about Helga Hufflepuff?"

Propping his feet up on the desk, Draco shrugged. "What about her?"

"What did she go on to do?" Yvette insisted.

"I dunno," Draco said, scowling. "She popped out a dozen kids and called it a century, alright?"

"But Rowena and Godric did so much!" Adam chimed in enthusiastically. "Rowena was the smartest witch to ever live and Godric was a war hero! Even Salazar did something interesting! What about Helga?"

Draco tossed his hands in the air in irritation. "Do I look three thousand years old? How would I know the intimate details of Helga Hufflepuffs undoubtedly dull life?" With a growl, he swung down his feet and stood up, going to the chalkboard. "Let me tell you a little something about Houses." He picked up the chalk and began writing furiously on the board, listing character traits in no specific order. "Here are the traits that get you put in Gryffindor." He underlined a few of them.

_Pride_, _Courage_, _Selflessness_…

He internally added "idiocy" and "boorish".

"These are Slytherins'," he said, circling more traits.

_Ambition, Cunning, Resourcefulness…_

"And Ravenclaw." These he put dots next to them.

_Intelligence, Witty, Wisdom…_

"Now," Draco went on, "look what's left."

On the board with no underlining, circles, or dots were the words:

_Loyalty, Hard Work, Patience, Fair Play…_

"Hufflepuff is what I like to call the 'what's left' House. Those who don't fit in the other categories get thrown in there," Draco said, pacing in the front of the classroom with his hands clasped behind his back. "Loyalty – something that Gryffindors display constantly. Hard Work – a Slytherin's ambition is the hardest sort of work there is. Patience – Ravenclaws are natural teachers, so patience is a necessity. And fair play will get you know where, because it means being trodden upon those more willing to get their hands dirty.

"By far, Hufflepuff is the dullest House. No famous witches or wizards come from Hufflepuff and none ever will. They're too willing to be used and forgotten, all in the name of being 'kind'," Draco finished, facing the students head on. "Therefore, Helga probably did nothing with her life after finding Hogwarts, as it is the Hufflepuff House's only claim to fame."

There was a stretch of silence as the students processed this.

"Are you sure you aren't biased?" Yvette asked snottily.

"Of course I'm biased," Draco snapped. "I hate Hufflepuffs. There is nary a more idiotic group of wizards out there, putting aside Gryffindors."

"How do you feel about Ravenclaws, then?" Chelsea asked, very quietly.

"Pretentious swots, the lot of them," Draco answered immediately.

Adam arched an eyebrow. "Slytherins, then?"

"Slytherins," Draco said, straightening up proudly, "are the most sly, secretive, back-stabbing class of people. They are both brilliant and, sometimes, evil. Surely you know the reputation Slytherin has made for itself. The Dark Lord himself was a Slytherin, as are more of his followers. There's no secret why the Dark Mark incorporates a snake."

"When do we get Houses?" Yvette asked, too loudly.

"Never," Draco answered.

"What!" Yvette shrieked.

"Why not?" Adam asked eagerly, looking sorely disappointed.

Rolling his eyes, Draco said, "In case you haven't noticed we are in the middle of a war. I know you've been told this. And why, pray tell, would we divide our next generation of witches and wizards when now, more than ever, we all must be united?"

He let that sink in for a moment.

"It's lunchtime," Draco said dryly. "Get out of my classroom."

All three kids hurriedly gathered their things and left the classroom in haste.

Rolling up his sleeves to his elbows, Draco left the classroom as well, heading towards the library. There was a book that he wanted to take from a shelf, but it was always flying away and hiding in the darkest corners of the library. Draco hated shy texts, they were always such a pain to find.

He was walking up the winding staircase when he heard a familiar voice saying, "…and the children sleep down that corridor and into the wing. Do you want to see Tonks's portrait? She watches the kids at night, though she falls asleep often, but it's no big deal –"

"Yeah, I'd love to see her," another voice Draco knew answered. "But first I was wondering if, you know, we could talk."

"Of course, Ron," Hermione's voice said. "What do you want to talk about?"

Draco took a careful step higher and stretched his neck. He saw the back of Hermione standing with Ronald Weasley near the top of the staircase.

When did he get back? Draco wondered with a deep frown, suppressing a growl of irritation.

"I'm just…concerned, 'Mione," Ron said, sounding hesitant. "All of this is a big responsibility, you know. This whole school is a lot to take on."

"Well, sure it is," Hermione said with conviction. "But I can do it. You know I can."

"What about Teddy? Can you run a school and be a mum?"

There was a pause. "Andromeda's back, so she'll be taking Teddy from now on."

"Oh," Ron said slowly. "I thought she was just visiting. I'm sorry –"

"It's alright, Ron. I'll be fine. It just means I have more time to… you know… be a teacher and such."

"I'm still not sure about this. I mean, with what happened with you a couple years ago… the episode –"

Hermione groaned. "Call it what it is, Ronald. I had a nervous breakdown. I'm sick and tired of everyone walking on egg shells around me!"

"Well, what do you expect, Hermione? You almost burnt down Grimmauld Place!"

"It was an accident!"

"Which only makes it worse because it means you aren't in control," Ron said, more assertive than Draco had ever heard him. The ginger was usually such a wet noodle. To hear him talking back at Hermione was unusual and did piss Draco off.

"McGonagall has faith in me," Hermione snapped. "Why can't you?"

"Because I'm really worried with you! Every moment that I've been away has been spent worrying about you!"

"Well, you obviously didn't worry enough not to leave me," Hermione hissed.

"That's not fair," Ron moaned. "I'm part of the Order. I can't say not to a mission, especially one as important as recruitment."

Hermione snorted. "Please. You were excited to feel important and didn't think twice of what it would be like for me to lose you after losing Harry."

At length, Ron said, "Don't make me feel guilty for doing the right thing, Hermione. Please."

"I needed you," Hermione said, so quietly that Draco barely heard it. "I still need you." Her voice was thick but unwavering.

It was then that Draco decided it was time to reveal himself. End this before Hermione could get weepy and Draco could get angrier. And he was hoping that his arrival would make Ron's face as red as he remembered it to be in Hogwarts.

He pretending to walk the last steps unassuming, hands in his pockets, seeming to just be going about his day. Then, feigned surprise to find Ron and Hermione there.

"Weasley," Draco said wryly. "When did you get back?"

"Just this morning," Ron said, his freckled nose wrinkled, his body stiffening. "Malfoy, if you don't mind, Hermione and I were in the middle of something." He was obviously putting a lot of effort into being polite, something that the Weasel had never possessed before. Maybe it was a sign of maturity.

Or maybe he was just a sissy.

"Not anymore," Hermione said, her nose tipped up defiantly. "We were just finishing up, Malfoy. Anything I can help you with?"

"Just on my way to the library," Draco answered.

"Don't you have something else to do?" Ron demanded. "Something like, I don't know, _spying_ like you're bloody well supposed to."

"If you have a problem with my performance thus far, feel free to say so, but might I remind you that that you haven't exactly been present for some time now," Draco said, arching an eyebrow at him. Draco kept his temper in check. He'd love to tear Weasley a new one, but was already on thin ice with Hermione. He doubted she'd appreciate him hexing her little boyfriend's balls off.

And Draco was still trying to fathom why he cared what Hermione thought.

"I'm just trying to understand why we have an inside man and we're still behind," Ron said sharply. "It's been bothering me since the beginning. Why are our people still dying when we've got a mole?"

"Ron," Hermione cut in. "You can't blame Malfoy for that."

"Sure I can," Ron said, glaring at Draco. His face was turning that bright red that went right to his hairline.

"I'm not as trusted as Snape was," Draco answered, his hands in his pockets curling into fists.

"Then what's the point of keeping you around?" Ron challenged.

"Malfoy has been a huge help!" Hermione said defensively.

"And he needs you to stand up for him, now? Spineless Slytherin, just like he always was."

Draco sneered. "I'd shut your mouth before I shut it for you, Weasley."

Ron straightened up, bringing himself to his full height, only an inch from being level with Draco. "Go ahead, Malfoy. One finger on me and the Order will want nothing to do with you."

Draco scoffed. "You're very self-important."

"They won't like you turning on your own, if we even are your own anymore."

"Say what you want to say, Weasel. I'm getting sick of this beating around the bush nonsense," Draco spat, looking Ron right in the eyes.

"I'll never trust you, Malfoy," Ron said lowly. "I think you're as bad as you always were. Harry would be sick if he knew the Order had taken you in."

"Potter would be sick if he knew you abandoned Hermione for flying around with your Quidditch idol while the rest of us fought on our home soil," Draco growled. Only later did he realize he'd called her Hermione. Not Granger.

Draco was prepared for the right hook to his jaw, but didn't duck. He figured he'd let the Weasel get one good hit in. Because not a second later, Draco had Ron's sweater clutched in his fists and slammed Weasley into the wall. Draco could hear the blood pulsing in his ears.

As a response, Ron kneed Draco in the stomach, to which the blonde man put him in a headlock.

"Stop it!" Hermione was yelling. "Stop it now, before I hex the both of you!"

Breathing heavily, Draco asked, "Are you going to play nice if I let go?"

Ron snorted, his voice choked because of the arm around his throat. "Aren't underhanded cracks your thing?"

With anger darkening his grey eyes, Draco let go of Ron with a shove. The redhead was absolutely boiling over with rage and Draco wasn't too far behind.

"You're both idiots," Hermione half-shouted, but she was mostly teary-eyed. "Ron, you shouldn't pretend to know what Draco has done for the Order…and me, for that matter. Draco, Ron doesn't deserve to be berated for just doing his job."

Draco was seething. He'd done nothing wrong. He'd played the gentleman until Weasley was the one to cross the line. He hadn't even thrown the first punch. Draco did not deserve to be scolded like a child for being the good guy.

"Whatever you say, Granger," Draco snarled, turning on his heel and marching away. He was going to go down to the gardens and hex one of those hideous gargoyles that decorated the roof.

…

"Malfoy!" Hermione called out, watching his figure disappear around the corner and back down the staircase. "Draco!" Still there was no answer. She turned on Ron in an instant. "Now do you see what your big mouth has done?"

"My big mouth?" Ron said, seeming completely oblivious to the fact that that entire fight had been his fault entirely.

"You're so…daft sometimes! Your provoked him! You started a fight over nothing! All he said was that he was off to the library and you attacked him, you prat!" Hermione berated. "You don't know _anything_ about Draco Malfoy, Ronald."

"And you do?" Ron snapped.

"As a matter of fact, I do!" Hermione yelled back.

"So, what? You're cozy with the snake now? What would Harry think, Hermione!"

Hermione made a loud noise of frustration. "You think you can hang Harry over me, use Harry to guilt me, but you don't know what Harry would think! You hold Harry over everyone like he's a god, but he was a _man_, Ronald! Just like you, just like Draco Malfoy." She took a few steps back away from him.

"Go back to Grimmauld, Ron," Hermione said as she walked away. "Come back when you're ready to see sense."

…

Sulking is what a bystander would call it. Bur Draco wasn't sulking. He was merely deep in thought in a remote area of the manor where he hoped no one would find him.

The garden was overgrown and dim from all the shade that the tall foliage offered. Statues were hidden in ivy or crumbled or rusted. A fountain was dry except for a small puddle of rain water that birds came by to dip into. Weeds had taken over and killed the flowers and while most people hated weeds, Draco sympathized with them. It wasn't their fault that they wanted to grow – it was in their nature to stretch their roots and grab hold of every living thing near. What made weeds different from flowers anyways? Their colors, their attractiveness?

Draco needed to get a hobby if he was starting to feel bad for weeds.

The rubble of the gargoyle sat sadly in a pile a few meters in front of him. Draco sat stiffly on a stone bench with a crack in it and stared at the destroyed statue.

Draco knew he was going mad. Something very bad was happening to him and he couldn't control it. The more he ignored it, the more it plagued him.

"You look upset."

Draco's head turned to the new arrival. It wasn't anyone who he expected. It was the young Adam.

"I'm not," Draco answered.

Adam's head cocked to the side. "Are you sure? Because when my big brother's upset, he looks kind of like that." Without being invited, Adam sat next to Draco on the bench. "Do you fancy a girl?"

Draco's entire body tensed. "What makes you say that?"

"You look how I feel when I fancy a girl."

"You're eleven. What do you know about 'fancying girl'?"

"Plenty," Adam said confidently. "I had a girlfriend."

_Well, well, look who's a ladies' man_, Draco thought dryly. "Oh yeah? For how long?"

"Three days."

"What happened? Did you steal her juice box?"

"I went away to 'boarding school'," Adam said, making air quotes. He smirked. "So, _are_ you having girl problems?"

"That, Mr. Nolan, is none of your business."

"Which means 'yes'."

Draco curled his lip and said, "Don't you have better things to do? Like getting ready for _detention_?"

Adam shrugged, sitting back and leaning on his hands. "I kind of like detention."

"You have a lot of nerve telling me something like that," Draco said darkly.

"Even though I feel kind of bad about getting Chelsea in trouble," Adam went on, ignoring him, "it's nice because we can hang out. It's a bonding experience, you could say."

"I didn't exactly want company right now."

"I know. But you looked like you could use a friend," Adam said cheekily.

"Let me make one thing clear," Draco said, turning his glare on Adam. "You are not my friend. I am not your friend. You are my student, I am your teacher. Learn your place before I put you there."

"You should just tell her how you feel," Adam said.

"Who is that?"

"Professor Granger."

An invisible line had been crossed. "Go. Inside. Now," Draco snarled.

Seeming unaffected by his Draco's harsh words, Adam stood up casually, his hands in his trouser pockets. "If you ever want advice about girls, I'm here to talk."

Draco had half a mind to throttle that cocky brat, but reigned it all in. He had become the master of control in only two years of being a spy. Or, at least, he liked to think of himself as such. There were moments where he'd like nothing more than to strangle someone.

Only a few minutes later, his place of hiding was invaded by Loony Lovegood and about six students out looking for another magical creature that didn't exist. They scattered around the garden, bending down low in the dirt and squinting under bushes and vines. Whatever it was they were looking for, it was supposed to be small apparently.

He wondered if that was how Lovegood justified the absence of the critters she believed in – that they were so tiny no human could see them.

Not in the mood to hear Lovegood natter about her nonsense, Draco opted to go back inside. Maybe he'd finally eat something. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten a real meal.

…~oOo~…

"Two weeks into term and already Hogwarts is heading for hell," Aberforth said glumly, shaking his head. "The ol' tunnel's been stopped up, you know that, but the students have been sneaking into the pub through the back door to report on what's happening up at the school." He stroked his beard pensively for a stretch. "It's not good, Minerva."

Minerva sat primly at the shoddy wooden table, a mug of heavily scented tea in front of her. They sat in Aberforth's home in back rooms of his pub. He was a simple man with only the bare necessities, never wanting or needing. He kept a window open despite the bitterness of Scotland autumns, through which a goat poked his head, seeming content to just watch Aberforth move about and wait to be fed.

Though Minerva found it slightly abhorrent to sit on a stool so obviously filthy, she was never rude and promised internally to Scourgify her robes once she was back at Hogwarts.

"I am well aware, Aberforth," Minerva said tightly. "I am there, after all, witnessing every despicable thing those Carrows do." She looked coolly furious. "How I've managed not to curse them both is beyond me."

"Thank Merlin I never had the sense to become a teacher," Aberforth said gruffly. "I'd have both their guts for garters by now if I had to be up there. Good thing I was never bright."

"You're bright enough," Minerva said simply, a compliment nor an insult. Just an observation. "Your problem is that you're too quick to draw your wand."

"I thought you liked that about me, Minnie," Aberforth said with a wink and a teasing smile.

"Hmph," Minerva huffed indignantly, rolling her eyes. "I'd thank you not to call me Minnie. And to not make such lewd and inappropriate jokes. Save it for your barflies, Aberforth."

"Jus' trying to lighten the mood, Minnie."

"Save yourself the trouble," Minerva answered stiffly. "I want to talk to you about another tunnel."

Aberforth sighed heavily. "_Another _one? After having the first one collapsed by Lucius Fucking Malfoy? I'm getting old, you know. One-hundred and sixteen this December."

"You can the help of two house-elves and one Order member."

"Aw, I don't feel right about getting help from another elf," the man said, scratching his chin through the thicket of grey and white beard. "Not after Dobby. But if I have to, then Jinx will do. And who do you have to spare among the Order?"

"Ronald Weasley just returned from a long mission," Minerva offered. "I'm sure he'd appreciate being only a Floo away from home."

"That dolt?" Aberforth scoffed. "How about that Longbottom fellow? He was a good lad, a hard worker."

Minerva was shaking her head. "He is indisposed, remember? He's been teaching young Muggle-borns in your old house."

His big bushy eyebrows pulled together. "Mould-on-the-Wold?"

"Yes, you gave us permission, don't you recall?"

"Huh. Guess my memory is going. Something about a school, right?"

"Indeed. Run by Miss Granger."

"Now, _she_ was a smart one," Aberforth said with grudging admiration. "She'll do a fine job, I think."

"I think so too."

"Did you check all the rooms?"

"Of your old home?"

"Aye," he confirmed.

"No," Minerva said, arching an eyebrow. "Why? You said there was nothing dangerous inhabiting Mould-on-the-Wold."

"I might have said that," Aberforth said, "but I think our little chat has proven that I do not have the most reliable memory."

…~oOo~…

~ So Long And Thanks For All The Fish ~


	12. Chapter Eleven: In Which Portraits Speak

A/N. I had no internet for days. Do you know how infuriating that was? ARGH.

Guys, guys, guys, I officially have TWO male readers! Oh my goodness! IT'S RAINING MEN, HALLELUJAH IT'S RAINING MEN! AMEN!

I got the best phone call ever the other day. It was my nephew. He is seven and I thought it was his mother, but it was such a joy to hear his voice. He said, "Uh…Aunt Resa… I have something to tell you." And I said, "Oh, really? What is it!"

"I'm reading Harry Potter now!"

Oh my goodness, I have never been so proud. I started yelling and telling him, "I'm so happy, baby, I'm so proud of you! What chapter are you on? What's happening? Who is your favorite character?" And he answered every question! He is on chapter five of Sorcerer's Stone and his favorite character is Hagrid so far because he "talks funny". I've never been such a proud auntie. I told him that when he finishes the very last book that I'd take him on a trip to Harry Potter World in Orlando. After I told him that, he quickly said goodbye so that he could start reading faster.

…~oOo~…

Chapter Eleven: In Which Portraits Speak

Sitting cross-legged on the stool in the kitchen, Chelsea watched her toast float in front of her. It was mystifying. An absolutely ordinary piece of toast, made extraordinary. Normal photographs became talking portraits and moving pictures. Cats became half-kneazles and pieces of wood, sticks, were magic wands _that she could use_.

It made the detentions from two weeks before completely worth it. Their chores weren't terrible – mostly cauldron-scrubbing and dish-washing – and that was such a small compensation for all of the wonderful things she was learning about.

From what she'd learned in History of Magic, she'd decided she would have liked to be in Ravenclaw. Chelsea was, after all, fascinated by everything involving learning and would love to be considered wise. Even though Malfoy had said that Ravenclaws were snooty, Chelsea wouldn't have been. She was too quiet to be pretentious. Even if she wished she wasn't so shy sometimes.

Adam had teasingly said she'd have been in Hufflepuff, which she didn't take as an insult like Malfoy said it was. From what she read, Hufflepuffs were kind and maternal. And maybe Adam was right – she was quite patient, always fair, and worked very hard. Working hard was something she did well.

"Not bad," a female voice said approvingly.

Her first instinct was that it was Professor Granger, but when she looked around and found no one, her brows furrowed and she stiffened.

"Who's there?" she asked hesitantly. Hogwarts: A History of Magic talked about ghosts, but Chelsea had been hoping they only stayed at Hogwarts. Though, that did seem a little silly now that she reflected on it.

"Over here," the bright voice said. "In the frame."

Hung on the wall was a regular painting of fruit in a bowl, but now it was a not-so-regular painting, for it had a young woman in it. She had wide, energetic eyes and bubblegum pink hair, cut short like a pixie. She had a series of bangles around her wrist and a wedding band. It was a little funny. However this magic worked, it made her small like the height of an apple and she leaned against the bowl, arms crossed loosely.

"Oh… h-hello," Chelsea said, recognizing her as their bedroom guardian. The one who always fell asleep. "You watch our doors. The sleepy one…Mrs. Lupin."

The woman laughed. "Well, yeah, that'd be me, I guess. Though, I can't even begin to describe how boring being a portrait is – there's not much else to do _but_ sleep." Her eyes sparkled. "You're doing a fair job, you know, with the levitation."

"Thank you," Chelsea said with a small smile. "Mrs. Lupin."

"How silly of me," the woman said. "I haven't introduced myself properly, have I? My mum always did say I had the manners of a Bundimun. You can call me _Tonks_. I much prefer it that way – Mrs. Lupin makes me sound old. And you are either Chelsea or Yvette?"

"Chelsea," the girl said immediately, a little ashamed that she'd been mortified of being mistaken from Yvette.

"I figured as much," Tonks said, taking old of the painted banana and hung on its stem, trying to yank it down with no prevail. "From what I hear, Yvette's a bit of a brat. You don't seem like a brat at all."

"Er… thank you?"

"Welcome. So, Chelsea, I was just a little curious," Tonks said, squeezing the banana around its middle. "Your wand. How is it treating you?"

"Quite well," Chelsea said with a satisfied nod. "Better than Adam and Yvette's. Adam's wand is a little temperamental and Yvette's wand throws larger tantrums than even she –" Shocked at the words about to come out of her mouth, Chelsea quickly stopped talking and covered her mouth. "I'm sorry, that was rude of me to say!"

But Tonks just laughed heartily. "Sweetie, it's alright to be rude sometimes, you know! My Merlin, you're even more careful about what you say than Hermione herself."

Chelsea paused. "Professor Granger?"

Tonks snorted indelicately, but not meanly – only amused. "Right. Forgot she was a 'professor' now." Giving up on her attempts to peal the banana, Tonks said down next to it, crossing her legs Indian-style, and staring out of the canvas at Chelsea grinning. "How do you like her? She's a good girl, isn't she?"

Nodding, she said, "Yes, she is really smart and very kind." Although, her favorite professor had to be Professor Lovegood, who insisted on being called Luna. She was just so funny sometimes.

"She was a favorite of my husband's," Tonks said with a nod. "He was a professor to, for a short time."

"Is your husband a…portrait too?" Chelsea inquired, figuring it was the most delicate way of asking if he was dead.

"Well, no, but he is dead," Tonks said, the first touch of sadness in her eyes. "I wish he was a portrait, though."

Cocking her head to the side, Chelsea asked, "Why isn't he?"

"Well, his parents are gone and my mum is still a bit too fragile to have any more portraits made. And the Order doesn't have funds to spare to get any done. If they make one, they'd have to make everyone else's, and there are too many casualties for that," Tonks explained.

"Who made yours then?"

Tonks paused, her brow furrowing for a moment. "You know… I haven't a clue. It wasn't my mum. According to Dad, she had his portrait made and then couldn't bear it and had him sent to Grimmauld. He's up in the library, actually. You should go visit him – he was Muggle-born too!"

Feeling a little awkward and still not sure of the etiquette when speaking with portraits, Chelsea cleared her throat. "How did your dad…?"

"How'd he pass?"

Chelsea nodded.

Tonks let out a sigh before saying, "I think that tale's best left for when you're a bit older."

"It was bad?"

"Quite awful, yes," Tonks confirmed gently. "But don't worry about us. We haven't got many woes now, yeah? Being dead and all. Living is the hard part." She paused for a second before she said, "I hope they get a portrait of my husband soon, though. I think he'd like meeting you – you'd probably have a lot in common."

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, considering that's his wand you're holding, I think you'd get along quite well." Tonks winked and said, "I'll leave you to your lonesome. Try and get some fresh air, though, okay? Maybe go out and play some Quidditch with the boys." And with that, Tonks walked out of her frame.

Looking down at her wand with deeper curiosity, Chelsea considered what Tonks had said. Tonks had said her husband had been a teacher. Chelsea decided then that she would just have to find out about this Professor Lupin and hopefully that would answer why his wand, now hers, felt like it'd always belonged in her palm.

…

"I know that look on your face," Adam said with a lopsided grin.

Chelsea's eyes popped open wide. "You…do?" She touched her cheek experimentally. What look was she making, anyway?

"You have a new adventure."

Blinking, Chelsea played with the hem of her jumper absently. "Well… sort of, I suppose."

"Brilliant," Adam said enthusiastically. "Count me in." He leaned his broom against the tree next to them. She'd left him a note in his books while he was practicing flying with the older boys requesting that he meet her by the tree that he'd been climbing when she first approached him.

"You know," Adam said as an afterthought, "for someone so shy and small, I never would have expected you to be so much fun."

"Is that a compliment?" Chelsea said, honestly curious.

"Of course it is!" Adam exclaimed. "It's exciting! I can see us being friends for a long time, Chelsea, if you keep up this Sherlock Holmes stuff. What do you need me to do?"

Looking at her feet, Chelsea couldn't fight her smile. If she was Sherlock Holmes, that meant he was Watson and it was nice to think of having a partnership like that. She was thrilled that she had actually managed to make a friend at all.

"Well, I was talking to the, uh, portrait lady," Chelsea said slowly, trying to find her footing in her explanation. "Her name is Tonks, did you know that?"

Adam shook his head. "You mean the lady who sleeps a lot?"

"Yes," Chelsea confirmed. "Well, she said that my wand belonged to her husband, who was also…gone. And he was a professor, one of Professor Granger's teachers at Hogwarts, I guess. I want to…find out more about him."

"Why?" Adam said, raising an eyebrow, a tad confused.

"Because I want to figure out why your wand is so…cranky…and mine is so…well-mannered," Chelsea said, finally looking up at Adam. She was uncomfortable with making eye-contact a lot of the time, but she trusted Adam and she knew it was rude not to at least make the effort to look into someone's eyes when you're talking to them.

Nodding in understanding, Adam said, "What's the plan, then?"

Chelsea shrugged.

"I know!" Adam said eagerly. "I'll talk to Professor Malfoy!"

Chelsea hesitated before inquiring, "Wasn't he upset you disturbed him the last time you tried to speak with him?"

"Perseverance, dear Chelsea," Adam said, tucking his hands into his pockets and smiling goofily. "You underestimate the power of unyielding determination and annoying twelve-year-old boys."

…~oOo~…

Draco was grading papers because apparently that was something you did when you were a teacher. He was beginning to catch on to why Snape was grumpy all the time. And why everyone always received low marks and scathing notes on essays.

Yvette was quite a clever thing, if you called clever repeating the same sentence over and over in different ways. The repetition made Draco want to repetitively bash his own head into the desk.

Adam wasn't the most talented of writers, but there was potential. At least it was clear that he understood the concept to some extent and was trying. Just because his spelling was subpar at best and his grammar had much to be desired didn't mean Draco was going to rip apart his hopes in dreams with red ink and a negative score.

Give Draco a few years to become completely jaded. He'd get there if papers like this became a theme.

The older kids he knew were smart he'd give passing scores. Any kids under the length that was required failed. Any older students that Draco knew personally and did not like had to rewrite the papers purely because he was having a small power trip and felt like it.

He didn't know what to do about Chelsea's essay though. He'd have to talk to Hermione about that.

He heard his door creak open very loudly. Draco looked up, tensing, waiting to verbally shred apart whoever entered without knocking. The door only opened a crack though. Just enough for a…

Why was there a mug of hot chocolate floating towards him through the small opening of the drawer? He knew it was hot chocolate right away, smelt the cocoa from the second it entered the room.

Hot cocoa was one of his favorite things about Hogwarts, mostly because at home he'd never had it. At Malfoy Manor, he could have anything to eat that he liked – just nothing high in sugar. His mother and father didn't want to have to handle a hyper little boy. In his First Year though, at his first feast, he had been welcomed into the wonderful, fantastical world of dessert.

The mug floated until it was right in front of his face. He stared at it suspiciously and then looked to the door. It didn't move an inch further open.

"If this is poisoned, you will regret it," Draco said loudly to whoever was obviously behind the door. He wrapped his hands around the hot cup before it could fall, shatter, and drench his papers. He looked into the mug and melted a little. It had whipped cream on it. And a dusting of peppermint.

"It isn't poisoned," the voice answered, sounding offended. The door swung open and in walked Adam. "Luna made a whole lot of it for everyone to celebrate the first full moon of autumn."

"Lovegood made this?" Draco said archly. Poison wasn't wholly ruled out yet, then. "And shouldn't you be calling her Professor?"

"She prefers Luna," Adam said, striding right up to his desk, smiling. "Can I call you Draco?"

"Only if you want to be made into a hat the Muggle way," Draco answered, setting the mug down and off to the side. "Leave now."

"But I had a question," Adam said.

"Ask Lovegood or Longbottom. They could use a little more agitation in their lives."

"But it's something I think _you'll_ know."

"Why?"

"Because it's sort of to do with Professor Granger?"

"How do you feel about being a matching handbag?"

Adam put on the most dramatic pout Draco had ever seen on any human's face. "I wasn't saying you liked her again, or anything."

"I am deadly serious," Draco growled. "Out. Now."

"Who's Professor Lupin?"

After a length of considering silence, Draco said, "Where did you hear that name?"

"His wand was given to Chelsea, right?"

On the inside, Draco was blinking blankly at Adam while he kept his cool exterior carefully intact. Where had Adam heard all of this? Where was he getting this information? He wasn't sure he wanted Adam talking about this to anyone else anymore. One word about Lupin and Hermione would start crying…

Or have what had apparently been a nervous breakdown…

Maybe Weasley had been exaggerating. Maybe the man was such an idiot that he dramatized a tantrum that Hermione threw and talked about it like a meltdown.

But it made sense to Draco when he'd heard Ron Weasley say that. It all made sense. Why everyone was so careful with Hermione, implying she was unstable, walking on egg shells around her constantly. She had an episode which has almost ended with Grimmauld being burnt down.

This had to do with Lupin. Draco felt it in his gut.

And he bloody cared. Which he despised.

"He was a professor," Draco said, "and he died. End of story."

"There has to be more than that," Adam whined.

"There isn't," Draco said simply. "Sometimes there is no mystery, no plot, no secret. Sometimes there is just a man. And sometimes that man dies."

Adam dragged a seat from one of the desks over to the front of Draco's desk. Draco suppressed a groan. Why would this boy not leave? He had dismissed him twice. He had a lot of nerve. Draco's blood started to boil.

"Did he die in the war?" Adam asked persistently.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Yes."

"So he didn't 'just die'. He was killed."

"Yes, I suppose that would be the case."

"By who?"

"How should I bloody well know?" Draco asked, his voice edging towards exasperation.

Raising an eyebrow, Adam said, "Well, you were there, weren't you?"

"It was a very _large_ battle," Draco said through clenched teeth. "I wasn't everywhere at once."

"_Someone_ has to know how he died."

"I suspect that someone does," Draco snapped, "but you will not be harassing any of your other instructors about this, do you understand?"

"Why not?"

"Because he was…a friend to them."

"Oh," Adam said, his shoulders drooping slightly. "That must be terrible."

"What must be terrible, Mr. Nolan?"

"Having a friend die."

There was no real way to respond to that, Draco thought. He just lifted his quill, dipped it in the ink and said, "It is terrible. Now, this is your last warning. Leave."

And, mercifully, Adam did.

Putting the quill back down, Draco sat back in his seat. The children were becoming restless and curious, which was a dangerous combination. Regular flying lessons and chess matches weren't enough to distract them from the truth. They were the targets of an evil dictator and they were going to catch onto that eventually. They already were.

They knew there were a good side and bad side. They didn't know why the bad side was bad and that had to drive them crazy. Yvette had been interrogating a flustered Longbottom about why he overheard one of the older students call him a war hero.

They wanted to know where their wands came from. Hermione had given them a vague answer, saying that they were donated and were more useful for them. These were very thin lies, like gauze curtains. Most translucent and easy to tear through.

Draco massaged his forehead. There was too much happening at once. He should have stayed at Grimmauld. There were significantly fewer children and more time to sleep.

But Hermione was desperate for help. She had recruited the assistance of Viktor Krum, who was teaching them all about Quidditch and taking them for regular Physical Education runs. Hermione found him helpful, Draco found him to be a nuisance.

Jealousy had nothing to do with it. Neither did the way that Krum looked at Hermione or the way he flirted with her in his annoying European accent.

None of it.

The man could barely pronounce her fucking name, for Merlin's sake, why was this bothering him so much?

Draco got up from his seat and decided he was going to find Viktor Krum. If Hermione was going to be all starry-eyed towards Krum then maybe she talked with him about more personal matters. He faintly remembered Weasley – before he left for the recruitment trip with Krum – saying something about there being correspondence between Krum and Hermione.

When Draco found Krum, he was rather sweaty from running laps around the pond with some of his new mini-fan club. It was mostly girls, Adam had joined and there was one other older boy who Draco recognized from classes and from his flying instruction. Draco had taken no time to learn anyone's name, often just going with "Oi! You!" or "You know I'm talking to you".

Draco had no clue where Hermione was and was a little relieved that she wasn't fawning over him.

Krum, just finishing up the run, instructed his fellow runners in heavily accented English for them to go inside and get something to drink. They all nodded and agreed then hurried indoors. Krum took his time heading towards the house, swiping a Summoned towel across his forehead and neck.

"Krum," Draco said, stepping out from his little nook against the house.

Startled, Krum stopped short but then tensed to see who it was. "Malfoy, yes?"

Draco nodded. "I'm not usually the chatty short, but I've got a few questions for you."

Scowling, his thick brows drawing downward and casting shadows over his dark eyes, Viktor spoke slowly and deliberately. "I haff no answers for you." He continued his walk towards the house, turning his back to Malfoy.

Sighing and rolling his eyes, Draco continued after him. "I see my reputation precedes me."

"The reputation of a Death Eater, yes."

"Hasn't anyone clued you in yet?" Draco said, annoyed. He could feel his nostrils flaring and tried to stop it. Being hostile would get him nowhere. "I'm one of the good guys now."

"One who trades sides so easily can do it again," Viktor answered stiffly.

"I've got too much riding on this, Krum," Draco said lowly. "I can be trusted."

There was a pause before Viktor said, "Herm-own-ninny says the same."

Draco's jaw was taut as he said, "See? Saint Hermione is vouching for me. Doesn't that say something?"

"It says her heart is too good." Giving him one last disgusted look, Krum strode faster towards the door of the manor, slamming it behind him.

Sneering, Draco swore that Krum would learn the lesson that no one turns their back on a Malfoy.

…~oOo~…

~ So Long And Thanks For All The Fish ~


	13. Chapter Twelve: In Which There Is

A/N. I am, as always, so grateful for all the reviews and feedback you send me. I think over and re-read every word you say and share them with my friends and family – because you all mean so much to me.

Whenever I get a really lovely review I call my mom and read it to her. Now she enjoys them as much as I do.

Between days and week passing between chapters and bridges, figure they're in late-October already.

…~oOo~…

Chapter Twelve: In Which There Is A Revelation

"Need any coffee, boy?"

"Thanks, Ab, I appreciate it more than you know," Ron Weasley said, swiping the back of his freckled hand across his grimy, sweaty forehead. With only two house-elves and himself, working through the cold, hard winter earth was difficult. The sweat was from the manual labor – sometimes not even the toughest spells would break through thick rock without bringing down the whole tunnel.

"Where's Jinx and Kreacher?" Aberforth asked, leaving a thermos of coffee next to Ron's pickaxe. He was taking a break, leaning against the curved wall of the tunnel, looking exhausted.

"Kreacher is at Grimmauld Place, doing something for Andromeda," Ron said, waving it off. "She's a bit high-maintenance, that one. And Jinx was called to Hogwarts by the almighty Headmaster Malfoy himself. Hopefully they'll be back soon."

"You're doing good work here," Aberforth said approvingly, looking around and nodding solemnly. "Any crumbles?"

"No, thank Merlin," Ron said. "If that start happening this deep… well, it wouldn't be good news."

"Just watch your supports," Aberforth advised. "Keep up with the stability charms and whatnot."

"Yeah," Ron said tiredly, nodding. "I'll be careful to. Being buried alive is not on my top five ways to die."

Aberforth gave a short nod of agreement before turning back and heading back through the underground towards his pub. Weasley was a hard worker. He'd have that tunnel done in no time. No time at all, he reckoned.

…~oOo~…

Something had to be done, Hermione decided. Yvette's wand was not any easier to handle and had almost taken off Neville's hand that afternoon. Perhaps giving her Narcissa's wand had been a bad idea after all. It was silly of her to think that a Malfoy wand would work for anyone but a Malfoy, let alone a Muggle-born. Malfoy had tried to warn her, but she didn't listen.

It was something Hermione needed to start working on. Listening to others. Even Malfoy.

In all fairness, Malfoy hadn't always been a reliable source of information, but after almost three years, she should have started letting go of that grudge already.

Maybe he would have some valuable input concerning how to take care of Yvette's wand situation. Hermione wasn't comfortable with how Yvette's frustration was giving away to amusement towards the insanely dangerous things her wand did. It was almost December and it was starting to drive everyone mad.

She was striding down the corridor, going to put on some tea before the staff meeting, and twisting her hair up into a bun-thing. She had four bobby pins stuck between her teeth as she tried to wind her curls into some semblance of order. Every day she tied her hair up and every day it started to fall before morning classes were over. Her frizz popped out, curls dropped from their places and hung against her neck. It was awful. She half-considered chopping it off before she realized she'd look like a scrub-brush.

Hermione was in the middle of shoving a barrette through a mass of curls before it fell out and onto the floor. She uttered a curse and got to her knees to look for it on the dark carpet. Wrinkling her nose, she reflected that the floors needs a good vacuuming. She would have to buy one.

"Granger, what the hell are you doing? Finally lose your mind?"

When Hermione looked up, for some reason she wasn't surprised to find Draco.

Taking the bobby pins out from her lips, she blushed lightly. "I dropped my barrette," she said, standing up and showing him the little bauble.

Draco looked at her oddly. Hermione touched her face, wondering if there was anything there, before she understood. Her hair was half up, partly down, partly sticking up wildly. She must have looked like a madwoman.

"Surely whomever you inherited that bush you call hair from showed you how to manage it," Draco said archly.

"Afraid not," Hermione said with a shrug. "Dad was the one with curly hair and his was always kept it short, so no reason for hair clips and pins. Tragic that I was born a girl, really. Such social pressure to have pretty hair." She smirked.

Draco held out his hand. Hermione stared at it. He rolled his eyes and said, "Give me."

"Give you what?"

"Your pins," Draco snapped, snatching the clips from her hand. He took her by the shoulders and spun her around.

"What are you doing?"

"Fixing this godawful mess," Draco said snippily. "It's an eyesore, frankly, and more than a little sad." He plucked out every hair-bauble she had in the nest she'd been creating and raked his fingers through it forcefully, making Hermione wince and hiss in pain. He did not care. The damage she was doing should be criminal.

"Ouch!" Hermione shrieked. "Must you tug so hard?"

"You deserve worse than tugging," Draco told her. "You deserve to have it ripped out the way you treat your hair."

"Excuse me!" Hermione gasped, offended. "Who made you an expert on women's hair? What do you know about girls' hair, anyway?"

"When I was small," Draco said tightly, "my mother used to give me Sickles for brushing and pinning up her hair. And I swear if you ever tell anyone I told you that, I will shave your head and eyebrows in your sleep, do you understand?"

Torn between a scowl and a grin, Hermione rolled her eyes. But then there was another yank of her hair and she grunted resentfully.

"Just…one…alright," Draco uttered lowly to himself. "There. Finished."

"Have you got a mirror?" Hermione asked, a tad suspicious that he'd done something horrific to her hair. She reached back and patted it and was already impressed. Everything felt tightly restrained without giving her a headache.

"Do I _look _like someone who would carry around a hand mirror?" Draco demanded, sneering.

"You _are_ a bit of a narcissist," Hermione shot back.

"A simple thank-you would have done."

Hermione bit back her instinct to tell him exactly where he could put his thank-you. Lately, Draco had been helpful, more quiet, less all-around infuriating. Why was he suddenly back to being a prat?

"Thank you," Hermione forced herself to say.

Draco's scowl evened out into his usual cold demeanor as he simply, unexpectedly said, "Your welcome."

There was an immeasurable amount of time that they stared at one another.

"What's happened?" Hermione asked.

"What makes you think something has happened?"

"You're acting like a git," Hermione pointed out.

"I always act like a git."

"Less so, lately."

"I'll have to fix that, then."

Hermione huffed. "That's not what I meant! You're exhausting! You're more of a handful than Teddy was, did you know that?"

"_I'm_ exhausting?" Draco snarled. "Do you know how often I have to stop myself from… Do you know what? No. I'm walking away from this conversation." He spun on his heels and began to march away.

Gaping, Hermione stomped her foot while his back was turned. "Come back here, Malfoy, I'm not through with you!"

"Well, I'm through with you!" he shouted over his shoulder.

"What is your issue?" Hermione commanded, running up behind him.

"You. _You_ are my issue, Granger." He kept walking forward, eyes trained ahead. He looked unexplainably furious. She had no idea what had set him off so badly, but she was not going to let him throw a fit like a child.

Only later did she realize that maybe she was being a little childish herself.

"What have I done?" she demanded.

Draco halted abruptly. Hermione did the same, turning to him and waiting for him to answer.

"Has Potter possessed you again?" he asked, looking her straight in the eyes.

Blinking, Hermione tried to regain her mental balance. That was no what she'd been expecting. "Well…"

"You don't have to answer," Draco said sharply. "I already know he has. Only once that I'm aware of, but still. Curious you didn't bother to mention it to me, isn't it?"

"It's only been once," Hermione said, deeply confused. "That night I stayed at Grimmauld in September… Why does that bother you so much? And how did you find out?"

"I thought we were going to work this out together, Granger," Draco said, his whole body stiff. "Unless you don't want my help."

"That's…" Hermione shook her head, bewildered. "Are you…hurt? That I…left you out?" It was a bizarre concept, but it was the only thing that made any sense.

"No, I am not _hurt_," Draco spat. "I am hacked off that you acted so stupid."

"What was I supposed to do?" Hermione said loudly, flailing uselessly. "I fell asleep, I woke up – that was all I was aware of until I found the note the next…" Hermione gasped in realization. "You've been through my things!"

"I wasn't snooping," Draco said defensively. "I was borrowing a quill from your desk. You should really keep such personal items in a safer place, it was lying right on top of your copy of Hogwarts: A History."

"I cannot believe you! You can't just go through my things!"

"Well, you can't just be possessed by dead people without telling me!"

"You're not my father, Malfoy!"

"And thank Merlin for that because then I'd have stupid hair, just like you." He walked away moodily.

"You're… you're an arse!" Hermione sputtered.

"_Thank you_!"

Hermione was about to scream something decidedly obscene when she saw Neville running towards her from the same direction Draco was strutting away in. Neville's eyes were huge and filled with horror – real horror. Hermione's anger went out, snuffed out like a candle. All of the heat in her body was replaced with cold.

Something was very wrong.

"Hermione, Malfoy," Neville said urgently, his voice thick. "There's been a collapse. At the Hog's Head."

Draco stopped immediately to listen.

"Oh my God," Hermione said, her voice catching. "Is Ron alright?"

"We… we don't know," Neville said helplessly.

_No, _Hermione thought frantically, sprinting in the direction of the sitting room. _Not Ron. Not Ron too. _

…

All of the adults had left the house in a panic, leaving the older, of-age students in charge. None of them paid much attention, though, expecting everyone to know the basic rules of How Not to Do Something Stupid.

They apparently didn't know Adam very well yet. He was on a very fast track to being crowned King of Doing Stupid Things.

He sought out Chelsea. They were quickly becoming partners in crime and, frankly, it was no fun doing anything dangerous unless there was someone to enjoy it with and then get in trouble with. Plus, she was really the only option as far as partners went. Yvette would ruin everything, because that's what she did, and all the older kids didn't want much to do with the little firsties. They would play Quidditch with him, but for now he was the baby of the group.

Adam found Chelsea in the library. Obviously. That girl loved to read. She had a novel in her hands, this time. It looked girly, frankly, he thought.

"Wanna go exploring?" Adam asked.

Chelsea looked up. "But…the teachers are gone."

"Which is exactly why this is the perfect moment to do it!"

"But…what if something goes really wrong?"

"Nothing will go wrong, I promise."

…~oOo~…

"Just blow through the whole thing!" Draco growled.

"And knock down the few supports still holding?" Aberforth said gruffly, his voice low and challenging.

Shaking his head, wishing he wasn't working with people who couldn't even read, Draco sneered and pressed his lips together. Crossing his arms, he watched on as his companions started coming up with half-baked plans.

One house-elf, Jinx, nattered nervously, explaining that Master Weasley was knocked out, half-buried, and that Kreacher was under a pile of rocks. Jinx said, "I is worried about Kreacher, masters and mistresses." This was understandable. If Kreacher was conscious or alive, he would have Apparated out by now.

Hermione was trying to figure out where exactly Ron and Kreacher were so that they could make a whole from aboveground outside and drag them out.

"How far along was the tunnel?" Hermione inquired of Aberforth and Kreacher.

"About a mile and a half along," Aberforth said, scratching his beard worriedly.

"Why don't we send the elf back in?" Draco asked.

"Absolutely not!" Hermione said vehemently. "He's already had a brush with death today."

Jinx's big floppy ears were turned downward ashamedly as he shook with fear. His eyes were bulbous and guilty-looking.

"It wasn't your fault, Jinx," Hermione said reassuringly, although she too was shaking, her nails bitten to the quick.

"Thank you, Miss 'Mione," Jinx stuttered out, glimpsing over to Draco nervously. Draco rolled his eyes. The bloody elf was worried about the reputation of the Malfoys and their treatment of house-elves. Draco never found any joy in harming smaller, weaker creatures. That had always been his father's hobby.

Then Draco got an idea. "A mile and a half in which direction?"

Bushy brows furrowed, Aberforth said, "East. Why?"

"How deep?"

"Too deep to dig from the top, sadly."

"What do we do then?" Neville asked nervously, his panic rising as more moments passed. "If he's not dead from the collapse, he could be running out of oxygen."

Luna nodded in agreement. "We should do something. And fast." She was wringing her pale hands nervously.c

Staring at the mouth of the tunnel, flooded with rocks and debris, Draco hummed to himself in consideration. A mile and a half east, they said. Making a snap decision that he was sure he was going to regret, Draco started rolling up his sleeves and wondering how he arrived in a world where he willingly saved Ron Weasley's life.

"Malfoy…what are you doing?" Luna asked softly, head cocked to the side.

Draco drew his wand and glimpsed at his Dark Mark for a moment. If the Mark allowed him to Apparate to places he'd never been on the Dark Lord's command, he wondered if maybe he could stretch the limits of it a little bit. Maybe, if he concentrated very hard, would the adjustments his Mark made to Apparition work in his favor.

Hermione must have seen the wheels turning in Draco's head as he looked at the Dark Mark. She gasped and said, "No, Draco! It's too dangerous to try. Please, don't –"

"If I get Splinched," Draco uttered, "I'll kill Weasley myself."

"NO! DRACO!"

Hermione's scream was the last thing he heard before he was gone. The loud pop rang loudly in all of their ears as they realized what Draco had done.

…

It felt like forever, Hermione remembered thinking.

She knew exactly why Draco had thought he could Apparate somewhere he'd never been without exact coordinates. But the chances of the Dark Mark stretching the limitations of Apparition that much was so unlikely that Hermione had immediately looked for body parts left behind. When there was no bloody stump or entire bottom half left behind, Hermione, bewildered, started looking for eyebrows and fingernails. Nothing.

None of Draco's body had been left behind. Her first instinct was relief.

But had he Apparated himself under a pile of rubbish?

They heard a deep rumble from somewhere deep in the tunnel and Hermione started to sweat. Had he been caught in another crumble?

Hermione was pacing while Neville held Luna close to her side. When five minutes passed, Aberforth went to get them all some tea with bourbon. Or maybe Hermione's was the only one with whiskey because she was obviously freaking out. She felt her lower lips wobbling and there was nothing left to bite on her nails and her heart was thumping so hard it actually hurt.

"Hermione…are you alright?" Luna asked tentatively.

Hermione paused before shaking her head. "How could he be so stupid? It was such a long-shot, he's lucky he didn't splinch himself in half, now he's probably buried and none of us can do anything about it! I feel so helpless! Such an idiot!"

"You're talking about Malfoy?" Neville clarified.

"Of course I'm talking about Malfoy!" Hermione half-shrieked. "He's the one that could have just committed suicide right in front of us!"

"I would think you'd be more worried about Ron," Luna said in that dreamy, blunt way of hers.

"I…" Hermione slowed down, her head playing catch-up. "Of course I'm worried about Ron," she said with less intensity. "I'm just…worried about Malfoy too." She sipped her tea and looked at the clock on the wall. Ten minutes had gone by. "Alright, he's been down there far too –"

She was interrupted by another loud crack that made them all jump.

Standing right in the middle of the room was a grimy, annoyed-looking and rumpled Draco carrying a soot-coated, knocked out and bloody Ron Weasley in his arms like a child.

Everyone jumped into action. Neville and Aberforth were asking question after question and Luna was tittering, hands fluttered around, frantic. Hermione was a little stunned.

Draco rested Ron carefully on the ground and Neville dropped down next to him, pressing two fingers to the unconscious man's throat and feeling the pulse. "He's got a pulse. Do you do CPR on someone whose been crushed?"

"Oh goodness, that's a lot of blood! Should we get Blood Replenishing Potion?" Luna asked, bouncing on her heels anxiously.

"I'll get the bottle of bourbon, that should wake him up and put some color in his cheeks," Aberforth offered.

While they fussed over Ron, knowing he was in good hands, Hermione said, "Malfoy, are you alright?" She raised one hand to rest on his shoulder, but he tore away and shoved Neville aside, dropping to his knees next to Ron as well.

Without any preamble or warning, Draco drew back his hand and slapped Ron across the face.

Everyone gasped. But so did Ron.

"Christ," was the first croaked word from Ron's black lips. He looked like he'd been rolled around in black powder. Even his ginger hair looked completely black. He was blinking furiously to get the dust from his eyes and then started coughing, forcing himself up onto his elbows and turning to the side to gag up a cloud of dust and rocks.

Hermione let out a long breath of relief. Her mind was still in shambles and was slowly putting itself back together.

"What hurts?" Neville asked urgently.

"My legs," Ron groaned. "Waist down."

"Oh, good," Draco murmured, standing up and running a hand back through his hair. The dust on his fingers streaked his pale blonde locks. "The human race can't handle anymore Weasleys anyway."

Instead of looking offended, Ron looked terrified, his eyes darting back and forth wildly. "Is…could that be… will I…?" she sputtered, his voice cracking every other syllable.

"He's fine," Hermione said with a relieved laugh and a roll of her eyes. "If he can worry about his manhood in this state, he'll live."

"But…but… _Mummy_…" And then Ron fainted.

"We should get him to Grimmauld Place," Neville said. "We could Floo Poppy to ask what to do once we've got a few potions in him."

"What about Kreacher?" Hermione asked, still trembling.

Malfoy's eyes were always so cold, Hermione thought.

Draco shook his head. "He was dead before I got there. I tried digging him out, but there was another crumble and I had to get out."

"Oh," Luna said quietly, sadly.

Frowning, Hermione nodded in sad agreement. Kreacher was a foul-mouthed, bad-tempered elf, but that had never been his fault and part of her would definitely miss him.

Only a half-hour later, Poppy was doing a full check-up on Ron in one of the many rooms at Grimmauld Place. At one point they heard painful screaming, but it went away after a few moments. Neville and Luna went back to Mould-on-the-Wold to make sure everyone was alright and hadn't burnt it down.

Draco was given the option of going back. He said that he'd stay at Grimmauld because he wanted to spend as little time with hordes of children as possible. But really it was because Hermione was staying behind and part of him wanted to torture himself.

Torture himself by watching her cry over Weasley. By watching her fawn over the ginger idiot. By watching her obvious distress over seeing her friend and former lover in pain.

It was no secret that Weasley and Hermione had been involved for a short amount of time before it ended when he left ago. It had been a month-long dalliance that Draco was forced to hear about when he stayed at Shell Cottage. Fleur Weasley nee` Delacour did nothing but gossip and loved talking about all the scandals and flirtations within the Order. Everyone was looking for comfort wherever they could and often they found it in others' beds.

Granted, Hermione and Ron Weasley were together no more. But Draco had an inkling that she cared for him still. He saw it in the way she looked at the carpet and paced the sitting room, shaking all over, looking pale as a sheet. She knew she hadn't noticed his arrival, which only made him feel worse.

Whenever she entered a room, Draco could feel it without hearing or seeing it. He felt it. A tingle at the back of his neck or a tension in his spine. He felt her there, walking through the threshold, and knew that she was smiling.

It had been strange in that collapsed tunnel. After the Apparition, his head was fuzzy and he felt a little sick. The tunnel was warm and damp and it was hard to breathe. He found Weasley after a few minutes and shoved the massive boulder sitting on his bottom half.

And, weirdly enough, that was when he realized it. As he stood over the body of a man that he absolutely hated, a man he was jealous to the point of madness over, and he made the decision to save him anyway for_ her_…

It was that moment that he realized that he was in love with Hermione Granger.

…~oOo~…

~ So Long And Thanks For All The Fish ~


	14. Chapter Thirteen: In Which Lupin's Tale

A/N. We're picking up right where we left off after Draco saved Ron and they're back at Grimmauld Place.

I love that all the reviews I got saying, "I liked it better when Ron wasn't there" and "I wish Ron didn't exist". You guys are so passionate! I love it!

HERE'S A CHALLENGE FOR ALL OF YOU: I would like YOU (that's right, YOU right there, who thinks they aren't an artist but I think you could be!) to draw or edit a picture of ADAM, CHELSEA, AND/OR YVETTE. Any combination of the three will do. Maybe draw a picture of Adam sitting with Draco or when Adam gives Draco the cocoa? Maybe edit together pictures of kids you found online that you feel look like the characters?

When you've finished your artwork (I have faith in each and every one of you!) my email for you guys is resaxwrites yahoo . com. You can send it to me there if you don't feel comfortable posting it on deviantart or livejournal. If you choose to post on those sites, just send me a link *smiles* I look forward to see your creations!

…~oOo~…

Chapter Thirteen: In Which Lupin's Tale Is Told

"Oh…Malfoy," Hermione said, finally looking up when she heard the creak of a floorboard. "I didn't see you there."

_I know, _Draco thought, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms.

"I…I want to say thank you," Hermione said at length. Her voice was quiet and she didn't look him in the eyes. "You took a big risk, doing what you did. Too big of a risk. I wished you hadn't. You could have killed yourself. There were other ways –"

"There wasn't any other way, and you know it," Draco said, cutting her off gruffly. "It wasn't a big deal. I'm a big boy, I can make my own decisions, Granger."

There was silence, broken only by the sound of Hermione's footsteps as she went to sit down on the couch. The cushion springs squeaked as she curled into the corner of it, kicking off her shoes. They landed with thuds on the floor and she tucked her feet under her.

"You're a miracle worker," she said, touching the tight chignon that Draco had put her hair only an hour or so before. "Thank you."

"Stop thanking me," Draco said curtly.

Hermione sighed, too tired to argue. After her series of anxiety attacks, she felt boneless. "Fine," she murmured.

Walking slowly around the couch, Draco sat in the armchair across from Hermione. He said nothing, just watched her as she rested her head on her elbow on the arm of the couch. She stared at the fire pensively.

"I hate this house," Hermione said out of the blue.

Raising an eyebrow, Draco asked despite himself, "Why?"

"It's lonely."

Draco rolled his eyes. "It's packed with people. Too many people."

"I know," Hermione sighed. "But it still…feels…lonely. For two years, this was my prison, just like it was Sirius's. I would think about him a lot. It made me sad. I'm happy to be at Mould-on-the-Wold. A little more space, a little more freedom."

Draco said nothing in return. This wasn't a conversation, he knew that. This was Hermione working out her thoughts aloud. It didn't matter if he was there or not – he could have been anybody or nobody at all. She would say these things anyway.

"But Sirius is at peace," Hermione went on. "He's with James and Lily and…Remus." The hesitation was barely there in reality, but it sounded like an ocean between the words to Draco. Her voice had choked then.

Leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, Draco finally asked the burning question. "What happened to Lupin?"

Slowly, Hermione lifted her head and turned to look at Draco with misty eyes. She thought about it for a long time, whether or not to answer him. She thought he'd already known, frankly. Everyone knew. It was what earned her the looks of pity what had ultimately caused her nervous breakdown and what sat on her shoulders every day for nearly three years now.

Draco listened earnestly when she started to speak.

It hadn't been what he expected at all.

…

The cellar door had been locked. And then it hadn't been thanks to a nifty little spell that Chelsea had come across. With a little flick of her wand and a whispered, "Alohamora", they were walking down the cellar steps and found themselves in a tiny hallway. At the end of this hallways was another door.

Adam reached out to touch the handle, but the second his fingers made contact he squeaked and yanked it away. "It's hot!" he hissed, wagging his hand to shake out the pain. "Really hot! Don't touch it, Chelsea."

"I wasn't going to," Chelsea whispered, trying hard to hide her amusement.

"This door feels…funny," Adam noted.

Chelsea nodded in agreement. Something about being around the door didn't quite feel right. It made her belly bubble, but not in a hungry way. In an uneasy way. She could see that Adam was feeling the same thing.

"What do we do?" Adam asked.

Chelsea shrugged and gave him a clueless look.

"Do you think the teachers know this is here?" he said.

"They're probably the ones who put the wards up," Chelsea said, her voice a quiet little murmur. Adam really wished she would speak up sometimes. She was always so shy about what she said.

"Or maybe this is a secret," Adam said with excitement. "Maybe we're the first to find it! Look, there's dust everywhere down here. No one's been here for a while."

"Maybe that's for good reason," Chelsea pointed out anxiously. "Maybe we'd better leave. We shouldn't be down here." It was feeling too creepy and he was right. Thick dust covered the door and the ground. They left footprints in the layers of cobwebs and filth.

"Okay," Adam said, sounding reluctant. "We'll look for charms and things to get rid of the wards and then we'll come back!"

Chelsea sighed. "That's not what I meant," she said under her breath.

…

"Where were you when Harry's body was brought back from the forest?" Hermione asked.

Draco hesitated. He'd been running towards the Shrieking Shack to have his last words with his godfather, hearing the chaos behind him. The screaming and crying and the sharp crackle of the Killing Curse.

"I was…elsewhere," Draco said vaguely.

"Well, you may or may not know that You-Know-Who executed a number of Muggle-borns that night," Hermione said, her voice gentle and broken. "Lined us up, killed us each one by one while everyone watched. The Death Eaters outnumbered us. It was a slaughter." She paused.

"You said 'us'," Draco said slowly. "But you're alive."

"I am," Hermione confirmed thickly.

"And yet you were lined up?"

"The very first," Hermione said.

Draco's throat clenched. He didn't like the image, Hermione dragged from a crowd to be killed. "What happened?" he asked.

"I was the first," she said again. "I was supposed to be the example. I'd already known I was a thorn in You-Know-Who's side, being Harry Potter's best friend _and_ a Muggle-born – and a clever one at that." She smirked but it was humorless. "I was supposed to be the second symbol of his victory. First was Harry's body. And then mine.

"I was towards the front of the crowd of who were left of us," she continued. "Ginny was sobbing and Ron was holding her back from charging the Dark Lord on her own. I was crying and Remus…" She took a deep breath. "Remus's hand was on my shoulder. He looked so solemn. More so than I'd ever seen before. But also, determined. Looking back, I wonder if he knew what was going to happen next, even then.

"You-Know-Who flicked his hand at Greyback. He'd survived that blast through the wall, the bastard. I didn't know I was the target until he'd grabbed my hair and dragged me away from Remus and Ron and Ginny and all of them. No one could move – they were statues. I couldn't blame them. The Death Eaters all laughed as I was forced to my knees before their Dark Lord. I remembered thinking 'this is the end, this is the end, but that's okay, it'll be okay'. I would die for my cause, just like Harry had. He'd gone to that forest knowing he was going to die and I could do the same. This was my forest, my fight, my sacrifice. I closed my eyes and I was at peace.

"You-Know-Who was always one for dramatics. He announced that I would be the first to die of the…Mudbloods.

"It was then, without hesitation, that a voice said, 'No'. It wasn't a scream of terror and it wasn't pleading. It was said with conviction, matter-of-fact. Of course it was Remus. I knew his voice immediately. It was strong and confident like he could take down the Dark Lord with one word."

After that, Hermione was silent for an entire minute. She swallowed. "I wish he hadn't," she confessed. "I wish he hadn't said anything. I wish he'd stayed silent like the rest of them and let it happen."

It all made sense then. Draco put it together himself. "He took your place. He didn't just save your life – he died for you," Draco said with clarity.

Tears were rolling down Hermione's cheeks. She didn't choke anymore, though. Her words were slow and mournful and overflowing with regret. She nodded. "He…he told You-Know-Who…to kill him instead. He said that he was a half-breed and a half-blood and that would have to be enough. I was bawling, begging Remus to go back, to leave me be, begging You-Know-Who to kill me already…

"I think that was my mistake," Hermione said, staring at the fire, lost in the past. "If I hadn't begged… if I hadn't shown the Dark Lord that dying would hurt less than living knowing that Remus had died for me… he wouldn't have taken the trade. Remus would be alive. If only I hadn't begged."

Draco's blood was like ice water. It was sick, but…she was right. The Dark Lord loved to see people on her knees, begging. And he loved to deny them. It thrilled him to see people desperate and it made him feel powerful when he could take away what they wanted more than anything.

It was sickening. Lupin had been his professor, even if it'd only been for a year and even if Draco had been a Class A bastard the whole time. But knowing now that Lupin, even though he was a teacher no more, put himself between the Dark Lord and a young girl…

It was the greatest sacrifice.

Draco cradled his face in his hands, taking in what Hermione had told him. The truth about Lupin's mysterious death and why she would cry every time his name was said.

Draco was sad. But more than that…he was overwhelmingly grateful. His mind kept whispering, _Thank you, Professor. Thank you, thank you, thank you… Thank you for saving Hermione. Thank you for giving me time to find her. _

But Draco had a hard time feeling grateful while Hermione continued to cry in that eerily quiet way of hers.

In some harlequin novel, Draco imagined that he'd go over and comfort her in some way that would lead to some sort of ridiculously perfect snogging session and ending with a torrid shag on the rug in front of the fire.

Unfortunately, though, Draco was not in some dime-store paperback. He was no perfect hero and Hermione was no damsel in distress. No hopes for happily ever after. He couldn't even afford to have dreams of a better world.

This wasn't how the map of his life was drawn. His was headed straight for ruin.

Poppy entered the room, shoving Draco out of his reverie. She looked as contrite as ever as she said, "It's alright to see him now, Hermione, but you best not upset him. And as for you, Mr. Malfoy –"

"Don't worry," Draco said coldly, standing up from his chair. "I wasn't planning on playing ministering angel to Weasley anyway. I'll go back to the school."

Lifting her head then, Hermione's eyes caught Draco's. She looked so young, then. Her eyes were wide and watery, pinkish around her lashes, her cheeks flushed, and her lips damp from biting and licking them nervously. She looked like a doll, her eyes trying to convey some sort of message, tell a story just through her gaze.

Draco didn't have time for dolls or stories. He spared her a single glace before marching to the Floo and throwing a palm-full of powder, green flames erupting around him.

…

"Walking sticks are sexy, right, 'Mione? Because when Malfoy waltzed around with one in Sixth Year, all the girls were so googly-eyed over him. It was the stick, wasn't it?"

Smirking, Hermione sighed. "Possibly. Are you sure you'll need a cane?" Hermione had figured a wheelchair would be more appropriate with the damage.

"Madam Pomfrey says so," Ron said, his mouth twisting to the side. "I don't think I'll be able to fly like I used to." Under his carefully casual tone was despair, Hermione could hear that. Ron was trying to be adult about this, that much was clear, but his heart had to be broken. He would snap later after the reality of it became unavoidable.

Flying would be difficult and painful. His entire right leg would never be the same and the ankle of his left was permanently misaligned. When he had the bare minimum of control over his leg, how could he balance a hundred feet in the air? If he couldn't move his feet in sync, how would he steer the broom?

Hermione wanted to cry for him, but took a deep breath, swallowed around the thickness of her throat, and said, "Baby steps, Ron. You'll be okay." She rubbed his shoulder affectionately. "We'll just have to make a special broom just for you. With a seat and hand-steering."

At that, Ron cracked a smile. "Yeah, I guess." There was a pause before Ron said, "Hermione…what happened exactly? Madam Pomfrey said she didn't know."

"Well," Hermione said, "the tunnel collapsed –"

"I know that," Ron said, waving his sprained hand. "I was stupid. I didn't realize how weak the supporting charms were until Jinx and Kreacher got there. By then it was too late. I mean after that. I was crushed by some boulders, hit in the head according the Pomfrey, but I was knocked out for the rest of it. How did you get me out? I've been eager to hear what work of Granger Genius saved my life this time." She smiled lopsidedly, making Hermione smile herself.

"It wasn't my genius actually," Hermione said gently. "It was someone else's idiocy."

"You don't say," Ron said, her brows crinkling with curiosity. "Who do I owe a life debt then?"

Biting her lip, Hermione considered whether it was good to tell Ron just then. Poppy had said not to make Ron stressed because of his concussion. But, still, how was she supposed to avoid the question? Draco deserved credit from Ron, especially after the scene the latter caused that week or so ago.

"Malfoy did, Ron," Hermione said, trying to sound as soothing as possible.

His first reaction was shock. Wide eyes. Then anger. Red face. But then, after a long fuming minute, Ron let out a long sigh and slumped petulantly into his mound of pillows. All he had to say was, "Bollocks."

…~oOo~…

"Yvette wants a puppy."

"And I want to be far, far away from this manor. Do you see that happening? No. Tell Yvette that she can guy as many puppies as her little black heart desires when she returns home for the summer," Draco told Adam in the kitchen the next morning. Draco was trying to make coffee. Adam was proving to make this difficult. "I have no doubt her father will indulge her."

"But it got me thinking, sort of," Adam went on, trailing behind Draco far closer than could be considered comfortable, even for something less irritable than Draco. "Do we have a mascot?"

"No, you do not," Draco said simply, measuring out coffee grounds with the little elbow room he had thanks to the clingy First Year.

"Well…we have a name, don't we?" Adam said eagerly. "We're Moony's Academy. What's a Moony? Is that a place, a family, an animal?"

"No, it is… or, rather, _was_…a person," Draco told him. "But don't go around talking about him to your little friends. Leave me alone, now. I've got things to do." _Like sulk and brood. And it's terribly hard to sulk and brood when a certain brat won't stop speaking. _

"If we all vote for a mascot, what then?"

"Then you will have conducted a poll for nothing. No mascots. No pets. No Houses." Draco sneered down at Adam. "Will you leave me to my peace now?" Draco stared at the coffee pot, willing it to finish with its brewing.

Adam folded his arms on the counter next to him, resting his chin on them and watched the pot with as much intensity as Draco. Draco closed his eyes, trying to pretend like Adam didn't exist. But the kids breathed so loudly it was almost impossible.

"So I found something interesting yesterday," Adam said conversationally.

"I don't care."

"You should," Adam said, "because it's pretty exciting."

"Do you know what I would find exciting? You leaving me alone."

Adam pursed his lips. "Naw. What I have is more exciting. But, unfortunately, it's a secret between Chelsea and I. So I can't tell you."

"Thank Merlin."

"It's a really fantastic secret though," Adam said tauntingly. "So fantastic that I might _explode_. Literally!"

"Please. Do just that."

Adam sighed dramatically. "The balance of humanity might depend on this very secret."

"Let humanity burn," Draco said darkly. "It's nothing but trouble."

"A door! We found a door!" Adam finally busted out excitedly, his whole face lit up.

If he poured hot coffee into his own ears, Draco wondered, would it end this torture? He let out a long breath, gathered his temper into a small corner of his mind to lash at later and said, "We are in a very large house with a great many doors. Tell me why I should be impressed by this door that you've found – and I warn you, unless it leads into a different realm where I can escape from this world forever, I highly doubt I will care."

"You mean…like Narnia?"

"What?"

"Never mind," Adam said, shaking his head, too excited to get to the point. "The thing is, I don't know what's behind the door! It's all, like, 'warded' is the word Chelsea used."

Draco stilled. There were no warded doors in the manor that he knew about. "Where is this door?"

"The door behind the cellar door."

Draco blinked. "There's a cellar door?" _There's a cellar? _

"Ah-hah! So I was right! You guys _don't_ know about it."

Removing the coffee pot from the burner and turning off the stove, Draco came to the conclusion that he was never going to have a moment's rest ever again. He looked to the younger boy and said seriously, "Show me this door."

…~oOo~…

~ So Long And Thanks For All The Fish ~


	15. Chapter Fourteen: In Which The Door

A/N. Two chapters in 24 hours! Resa must be having a boring day, huh? It's true! Haha! Long, boring day.

So…did you guys not enjoy the last chapter? Because I got so little reviews *sad face* I'll try harder this time, I promise, okay? I'll do put Draco in a tutu if it will make you happy, I will! Please, tell me if you want to see Draco in a tutu in the reviews if that is what you wish for! *begs on knees*

Thank you, **Way Worse Than Scottish** for the fan-art! I am honored to say it is now my screensaver *smiles* heehee!

…~oOo~…

Chapter Fourteen: In Which The Door Is Opened

Draco had finished his morning Defense lecture with the students. They were off to their other subjects – History of Magic with Hermione, Herbology with Neville, and Magical Creatures with Loony. After an hour and a half was up, he'd head back upstairs where he'd get half the students for flying instruction and the other half would go with Krum for some exercise. Meanwhile, Hermione, Neville, and Luna would do some smaller, more intimate advanced classes with the older kids, mostly the ones who hadn't been to Hogwarts since the battle and never graduated.

But Draco was spending his spare hour and a half (he called it his Adam-Free Hour) finally finishing off the last of the wards on the cellar door. He had actually had to find a book on de-warding in the library since the usual spells had no effect.

Draco was very uncomfortable with just how protected this door was. He was starting to think maybe it was that way for a reason, and maybe he should not be toying with whatever powers behind the door.

No one else knew. Draco had made it clear to both Adam and Chelsea that Hermione was under enough stress without adding mysterious doors onto the list. Chelsea had readily agreed, seeming concerned for her professor, while Adam just seemed excited to have a secret.

Draco took a moment to close his eyes. Hermione had been preoccupied with classes, with visiting Teddy as much as often, with helping Weasley get back on his feet slowly with physical therapy that she didn't have the energy or time to figure out how to get Harry Potter back. He sometimes found her asleep in the library on a book about necromancy, but he could tell she was losing hope. Maybe there wasn't a way to get Potter back. Maybe it was a two-time deal and Potter wasn't going to possess her again.

Draco didn't care. But Hermione obviously did. This made him care in a way that deeply annoyed him. How did this happen? Why did everything Hermione love matter to him suddenly? Why did he want her to be happy so badly that he would go as far as wanting to bring his arch nemesis from the dead or save the biggest ginger numbskull's life as the risk of his own?

It was because her laugh made him want to rip his own hair out. It was because her smile wanted to lock himself in his bedroom all day so he didn't have to slowly die over it. It was because the same part of him that wanted to shove bobby pins into her scalp until that blasted hair stayed in place also wanted to tear those pins out and watch those curls fall over her shoulders and go everywhere.

Draco Malfoy hated that he loved Hermione. Which really only made it all worse.

Opening his eyes once more, finally centered, Draco raised his wand to the door and uttered the incantation. It didn't work the first time, or the second. The third time, though, he heard a loud sizzle and saw the doorknob glow bright red. Draco's heart skipped in panic but his heart rate evened out when he saw the doorknob melt into liquid brass and drip to the floor.

That wasn't what he'd been expecting. The brass cooled and hardened quickly on the wood floor. Bending down, Draco looked through the hole where knob had been, hoping to get some idea of what he was up against, but there was nothing he could see. It was dark. Carefully, he poked a finger through to test for any more barriers. There were none.

Standing up straight once more and clutching his wand in his right hand, Draco opened the door inch by inch, wand held outward in preparation for an attack of something, anything. When there was no immediate explosion or outburst, Draco flicked his wand to illuminate the cellar. The tip of his wand glowed for a split second before dying.

With a frown, Draco said, "_Lumos_!" Again, the light died before he could see a thing.

"What the hell?" he murmured, tapping his wand into his palm in annoyance.

Draco ran upstairs to get a candle. He lit it and brought it into the cellar. The small flame put itself out the moment he stepped over the threshold. The same happened with a lantern he Summoned.

His little exploration was useless without any light. Thoroughly irritated, Draco slammed the door shut and put a temporary ward over it before marching up into the manor to break something and do some research.

…~oOo~…

_Chelsea is tall. That is the first thing she notices, being above things that she was normally at eye-level with. She is wearing a plaid skirt, wool tights, a white t-shirt, and ballet flats. She feels…prettier than normal. Maybe it had to do with her body being completely reconstructed – tall, slim, tiny waist, and the breasts that she'd always dreaded sitting on her chest in a way that didn't feel totally weird like she'd thought it would. _

_She is walking. She is not in control of her walking or her words or her thoughts. She had never seen the land she is walking on, but she traverses it as if it was her home. The grass was green and the trees were all odd, especially the one they were heading towards. It twitched even though the day was wind-less and had no leaves despite it feeling like the start of spring. _

_Adam walking beside her, only it wasn't quite Adam at all. He was older, just like her. Boy, she thought _she_ was tall! Adam towered, his light brown hair buzz-cut and his warm brown eyes sparkled with the same mischief she'd come to like quite a lot. While she was dull and boring, Adam had this spark, this spirit that he couldn't contain and shared with everyone. _

"_You think we could snoop around for a little while and claim we had some trouble with the tree?" Adam said his smile broad. _

_Chelsea replied, "Not if you want to get back to your precious fiancée as quickly as possible." Wow, Chelsea though absently. My voice is deep. And a little raspy. Was this how she was supposed to sound in the future? _

"_She wouldn't mind," Adam said, waving it off. _

_Chelsea arched an eyebrow at Adam challengingly. _

"_Fine, fine, you're right," Adam said with a chortle. "Since when did you stop being fun?"_

"_I was never fun, Adam," Chelsea replied playing with the blue ribbon tied around her wrist absently. Chelsea recognized it as the ribbon she found in the room at the manor. The one she'd found in the room with the initials A.D. in the headboard. _

"_Yes you were!" Adam said, nudging her with his shoulder playfully. "I remember the first time you spoke to me. It was because you wanted to go on an adventure. You remember the letter, right? The love letter Dumbledore kept?"_

"_Professor Granger said we shouldn't talk about that," Chelsea said. "It was private. We were wrong to have read it." _

"_The guy was already dead, I don't see what the big deal is," Adam said dismissively, shoving his hands into the pockets of his denims. _

_Chelsea sighed under her breath. "How would you feel if a letter you wrote to Yvette was found almost a hundred years from now and was read by a couple of stupid eleven-year-olds?"_

"_I don't write letters to Yvette," Adam said. "But if anyone found those pictures…yeah, that'd be a problem."_

"_I hate to ask, truly I do," Chelsea said, closing her eyes for a moment, "but…what pictures?"_

"_Our naughty pictures," Adam said with relish, wagging his eyebrows. "Wizard photographs are the best, I tell you. The absolute best."_

_Chelsea gagged. "Come on, Adam," she complained. "I know you like to pretend like I'm a bloke, but really, it needs to stop. If you want to make innuendo, do so with someone else."_

"_Who, though?" Adam said, his voice lowering and his smile falling. His brow crinkled a little. "Ever since Malfoy…" He couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence. _

_Chelsea stopped walking and touched Adam's elbow, stopping him as well. She looked up at him and said, "I'm sorry, Adam. You know I am. We all are. We all know how close you were to him…"_

_Chelsea saw Adam's throat bob as he swallowed. "Yeah," was all he said. _

"_Is there anything I can do?" Chelsea said hopefully. _

_There was a long paused before Adam said, "Only one thing we can do. Kill this fucking snake once and for all."_

...

It wasn't a nightmare by any means, but it left Chelsea feeling nervous and afraid. Where had she been? Why were she and Adam so much older? What had they been saying about Yvette and what happened to Professor Malfoy?

So many questions it gave Chelsea a pulsing headache. Swinging her short legs out of bed, she eased herself up and winced when she realized that movement made her headache worse. She steadied herself and walked towards her bedroom door very slowly. Her bare feet were cold, but she didn't mind much.

When she opened the door she found that Tonks was missing from her frame. Likely visiting her father, Chelsea thought. Oh, well. She shuffled out of her room and towards the kitchen. Maybe she'd find some Muggle pain reliever or maybe just make some tea.

She hadn't been expecting to find Professor Granger also awake.

Her professor was hunting through the cabinets for something, looking a little frazzled. Professor scratched her head and wrinkled her nose, seeming a little annoyed.

"Professor?" Chelsea said tentatively.

Professor Granger jumped so high she nearly slipped and fell. Something was off about her teacher, Chelsea just couldn't pinpoint what. Well, if she was awake at three-thirty in the morning, obviously she wasn't having an easy night.

"Oh…hi," Professor Granger said, looking a bit worried like she'd been caught doing something bad.

"Are you alright, Professor?"

Professor Granger looked left and right before saying, "Um…yes. Yes, I am…alright. Do you, by any chance, know where the bloody tea is?"

Chelsea felt her eyes get big. She'd never heard her teacher use a rude word before. And, anyway, Professor Granger made the tea all of the time. But, then again, a lot of things were getting misplaced in the kitchen ever since their house-elf had passed away. No one seemed to know how to put things back where they belong anymore.

"Professor Lovegood usually puts it in the breadbox by accident," Chelsea said.

Professor Granger looked across the countertop for a moment before catching sight of the breadbox and flipping the lip open. Inside was a box of tealeaves. "Brilliant," Professor Granger said brightly, putting on the kettle. Then she seemed to remember something. "Do you…need anything?" she said slowly.

"I…I have a bit of a headache, Professor," Chelsea said meekly.

"Oh! Okay, well, um… that's right!" Throwing a cabinet open slightly too hard, Professor Granger reached up on her tip-toes to snatch a green corked bottle from a high shelf. She checked the label and hummed to herself as she read it. "Yes. Yes, this should help." She held it outward. "One dose of this should set you right, I believe. And you best get yourself back into bed. Wouldn't want to be caught out past curfew." She winked playfully.

Taking the potion and feeling terribly confused about why her professor was talking so strangely, Chelsea slowly made her way back out of the kitchen and padded back to her room. She would have to ask her professor if she was okay once she was well-rested.

…~oOo~…

It was one of those mornings that Draco couldn't help but stare because he knew she didn't notice. She was terribly sleepy and trying to read the newspaper but was obviously ready to nod off. Her hair was in a loose braid that could hardly be called a braid anymore. She was wearing a thin cotton robe that thought covered her, but clung to her pajamas, which was only a camisole and lollipop shorts.

It was a cold morning in the beginning of November and he wondered if he should somehow subtly hint to her that her robe was doing nothing to hide her…chilliness. He had to force his eyes away from her breasts every two minutes. Though, she obviously didn't notice. She was too busy almost falling asleep into her tea.

With every passing minute he wanted to put a coat on her. Firstly, because it was damn distracting and slightly torturous. Secondly, because the children would start waking up soon and half of the boys probably already had a crush on their female teacher without her unintentional display. Teenage boys could only handle so much. He as a man could barely handle any less.

She smelt so pretty in the morning.

God, he wanted to die.

He was almost thankful for the distraction when the first student walked in, ready for breakfast. It was the youngest girl with the boy haircut. Chelsea was her name.

"Good morning, Chelsea," Hermione said with a soft, tired smile, her eyelids heavy. "The tea is still warm, love, help yourself."

The quiet little girl nodded and poured herself a little cup of tea and joined them at the kitchen island, hopping up onto a stool across from them and taking a banana from the fruit basket. "I wanted to thank you, Professor Granger."

Hermione's brow furrowed ever-so slightly. "You're welcome, I suppose. Though I'm not quite sure why you're thanking me."

"For the potion," Chelsea said, stirring one spoonful of sugar into her tea. "It really helped."

"I'm sorry, darling," Hermione said, sounding puzzled, "but I don't recall giving you a potion…"

"For my headache last night," Chelsea said, her head tilting to the side. "You weren't acting like yourself. I hope you got some decent sleep, Professor."

Hermione was wide awake in an instant, her and Draco's eyes meeting instantly.

Bemused, Chelsea asked quietly, "Do you…sleepwalk, Professor?"

"Um…sort of," Hermione said guardedly. "What was I doing, exactly, when I gave you the potion?"

"Well, you were looking for tea," Chelsea answered, blowing on the steam rising from her cup. "I told you that Professor Lovegood sometimes got confused and put it in the breadbox. You found it and put on the kettle."

"Did I say anything…important?"

After a moment Chelsea shrugged. "Only that I should get back to bed so I wasn't caught out past curfew. That was all."

"I'll kill him," Draco said lowly.

Seeing her instructor's sudden hostility, Chelsea slumped, retreating back into her shell. "Did I do something wrong?"

"Not at all," Hermione said, reaching out and resting a hand on the girl's wrist. "Not one bit. You were right to get up and look for help if you had a headache. Never hesitate to do so. You've actually been a great help. Thank you, Chelsea."

Feeling a little better, Chelsea nodded and sipped her tea while Hermione tried to understand why Harry hadn't left her a note.

…

"Was Albus Dumbledore married?"

Hermione had to admit she hadn't seen that one coming, especially from quiet little Chelsea. "No, he wasn't," Hermione said. "He was exceptionally dedicated to his work. Between fighting Dark Wizards and running Hogwarts, I suspect he didn't have much time for romance."

"But…" Chelsea said, seeming to be thinking through her question as she said it, "he was young once, too. He must have had a…first love."

Hermione considered this. "You're probably right, Chelsea. He probably had someone he cared about. Nothing has been recorded, though, and he never really talked about private things."

"Maybe it was a forbidden romance," Yvette joined in eagerly. "Maybe it was like Romeo & Juliet! Or maybe, because he was battling Dark wizards, he wanted to protect his true love by leaving her. It would be awfully romantic, wouldn't it?"

"I don't think Dumbledore was Spider-Man, Yvette," Adam said, rolling his eyes.

"Well, Yvette might be right," Hermione said, half-sitting on her desk, thinking deeply. "Sometimes we have to make sacrifices to protect the ones we love. Even if that means leaving them…or sending them away…"

"Did you have to send someone you love away?" Adam asked.

After a moment, Hermione nodded. "I did. Dumbledore…he never gave much away about his personal life, this is true, but he did seem to have this undying faith in love. It makes me think that maybe…maybe he knew more about love than we thought."

"I want to tragically fall in love," Yvette said with a girlish smile. "Just like Dumbledore."

Hermione chuckled. "We don't know for sure it was tragic. Not every love story is torrid and melodramatic. In real life, everything can be clean cut, with everything exactly as it seems." She was far off as she said, "Sometimes you love someone you can't be with. The end. But if you're lucky…you fall in love and the other person falls in love with you and it's a perfect ending with some imperfect moments. That's life." Hermione shrugged, coming back to the present. "But you guys are eleven. You don't have to worry about that for some time yet."

"Are you dating Mr. Weasley?" Yvette asked, rather loudly.

"Um…which Mr. Weasley?" Hermione said, barely holding back laughter. On Halloween, all of the Order came to Mould-on-the-Wold to meet the students they'd heard so much about and to have a little party.

"The one with the cane," Yvette said as if it should have been obvious.

"No, I'm not," Hermione said with a smile. "I'm a little concerned about how History of Magic has become the Love Life of Our Professors 101." She gave them each teasing looks. She didn't mind answering their questions. Frankly she wished she could have been in such a small class when she was growing up – it made getting close with your teachers easier and made it impossible to fall behind.

"And you can call him Mr. Ron," Hermione added. "I know the number of Weasleys can get confusing."

"I think Mr. Ron is dashing," Yvette said.

"Is it the walking stick?" Hermione asked, arching an eyebrow.

Yvette thought about it for a long moment and then nodded. "Probably."

Hermione couldn't not laugh. Adam joined in and Chelsea smirked to herself while Yvette demanded to know why they were laughing at her. The heaviness on Hermione's shoulders lightened. It'd been a very long time since she'd had a good laugh.

…~oOo~…

~ So Long And Thanks For All The Fish ~


	16. Chapter Fifteen: In Which Something

A/N. You guys are great! I love all of you! Your reviews are what keep me writing!

Okay, so no Draco in a tutu! But maybe I'll save that for book 2 or 3 *winks*. There are a lot of questions you guys are asking. What's behind the door? What's up with Harry? What is up with Chelsea's dream? Sit back, relax, and enjoy the answers as they come (even if they don't come this chapter in particular).

So I've already introduced a favorite little sub-plot bunny here. Chelsea's dreams (which are in italics) tell a new story altogether that is very intertwined with the present. These dreams do not work chronologically. Everyone's already having theories, and I love to hear what you guys think is going on *smiles*.

…~oOo~…

Chapter Fifteen: In Which Something is Hidden

At home, Yvette had tons of friends. She had maids and a butler who had raised her since she was a baby. She had a daddy who bought her whatever she asked for and a mummy who let her use her make-up and wear her gowns and dresses. She went to a private school where the uniforms were adorable and they had dances every month. She'd already had her first kiss from Hugh Thompson – it wasn't as exciting as everyone had said, it was sort of slimy actually – and was very popular.

Finding out she was magic had seemed like icing on the cake. Her life could not be any more perfect, she thought. Until she got stuck at Moony's Academy with only eleven other students, only two of which were her age, with four nut-ball professors and a distinct lacking of unicorns.

What was the use of having magic is no one was going to pay attention to her, if she was so bored by Salazar Slytherin's power craze, and if her stupid wand wouldn't work the way it was supposed to! It was infuriating!

And the only cute boy was too busy paying attention to Chelsea, who was so plain she bordered on homely and had a haircut like a boy. Her eyes were really pale green that they looked sort of snake-ish – which freaked Yvette out.

Yvette was already starting to get boobs and Chelsea was skinny as her littlest finger. So what exactly was so fantastic about Chelsea?

Well, Yvette was dead-set on finding out. So she'd started off by following Chelsea and Adam around whenever they went off. It was boring, actually. They never touched, they just looked around the house, stomping on floorboards and trying to open locked doors. Really, truly boring.

She was still angry about getting punished for Chelsea and Adam's naughtiness. It wasn't fair – she'd been looking for a teacher. And they didn't even talk to her when they were all scrubbing those cauldrons.

If Adam and Chelsea didn't start being her friend soon, there was going to be hell to pay!

…~oOo~…

"This is a stupid plan," Draco said, although he didn't really think that. He was just feeling grumpy. He'd been Summoned the night before and got barely any sleep. Now he apparently had to watch Hermione sleep and see if she would be possessed.

He wasn't crazy about having to watch her sleep. Wasn't his life hard enough?

"Just…I'll go to bed, drink the Dreamless Sleep, and you stand by and wait a little while to see if Harry comes or not," Hermione said. "I don't want to keep you from your sleep for too long."

Not like he would sleep anyway. "I'll feel ridiculous, standing over you while you're sleeping. It's creepy."

"What's creepy is that Harry's been waltzing around in my body for Merlin knows how long without notifying you or me," Hermione said firmly, sounding annoyed with her dead friend. "When he comes back, I'm going to teach that boy a lesson."

Then, bluntly, Draco asked, "What if he can't come back?"

Hermione's face fell. She didn't look upset, she just looked…pensive. Or thoughtful. "I'd really have no hope then," she said, mostly to herself. "To have something like my friend being alive dangled in front of me then taken away…I don't think I'd recover from that. I'd move on, of course, do my best with the students and the war, but emotionally…well, I'd be a wreck." She gave a cynical little laugh that didn't sound like her at all.

Draco frowned inwardly. If Harry Potter didn't pull another miracle from his undead arse, Draco would drag him back from the afterlife to well and truly kill him again. He would stay dead then.

Hermione must have seen Draco's overall hesitation in being part of this plan. She looked up at him with her big brown eyes and said, "Please, Malfoy. I need to try. And I need your help."

"Why not ask Weasley?"

Hermione sighed. "Because I don't want to get his hopes up. He misses Harry every day, and so do I, but if I told him there was a way to get Harry back and it turns out I'm wrong, it would kill him just like it would me. I'm trying to keep the casualties to a minimum in case of our failure."

Shaking his head, Draco grumbled, "Fine. Don't expect me to be nice to Potter if he comes around, though. I can't hit him, which is bad enough."

Then Hermione's lips turned into a small smile and she said, "Give him hell for me."

Something about that made Draco want to smile. He nearly did. Until she turned and opened her bedroom door and walked into the room. Draco sighed and followed her, closing the door behind him.

And so Draco was trapped in a bedroom with Hermione. It was the exact scenario he'd had in his dreams the night before, but the plot-turn here was that all close would be staying on. It was horribly disappointing, but he would expect no less.

Hermione went to her wardrobe and pulled out a cotton nightie. It was white and had a ruffle around the bottom that would probably come to her knees. Draco swallowed when he saw it. It was so innocent and pure that he knew some god was doing this to torture him. She always wore a robe, which explained why Draco had never seen it before. She'd look like a little china doll in it.

"Do you mind turning around?" Hermione asked, unfazed.

Stiffly, Draco turned and faced the corner. "I'm a bit disconcerted about why you're so comfortable dressing in front of men."

"After months in a small tent with two boys, one gets used to being seen in various stages of undress," Hermione said, the sound of rustling fabric in the background. "Merlin knows I've seen more of Ron and Harry than I ever wished to."

Draco wanted to point out that wasn't true because of her affair with Weasley, but kept his mouth shut about that and said something else instead, still looking at the wall. "I hate Potter, you know."

"I know," Hermione said, her voice softer. "Which is why – you can look now – that I am deeply, deeply appreciative. I know it can't be easy, willingly helping Harry, and I want you to know that I'm not taking your help for granted. I owe you. And Harry will owe you too when he's back," she added confidently.

Draco smirked to himself. Should they succeed in resurrecting Potter, he'd have the whole Golden Trio in his debt. He saved Weasley's life in the collapse, helped Hermione in her research and possession problems, and will have brought back the Boy Who Lived. He'd certainly be keeping these debts in his back pocket.

"At the very least, he'll have to be nice to you," Hermione said with a smirk.

Draco scoffed. "If Potter dares try and be nice to me, I won't be accountable for my actions."

"Some things don't change, I suppose," Hermione said, seeming to think on this. "I thought maybe, with all this effort going into saving him…I thought you'd, perhaps, feel something more for him than loathing. It was just a hypothesis."

_You don't get it_, Draco thought as she slid Fabian Prewett's watch onto her wrist and began preparing for bed. _I'm not doing this because I like Potter. I'm doing this because I'd like nothing more than to tear that flimsy little nightie from your body, throw you onto the bed, and have my wicked way with you. _

Folding down her comforter very neatly, Hermione slid under it, sitting up and plucked a vial from her bedside. She looked over at Draco. "Are you ready?"

"I think I should be asking you that," Draco answered, raising any eyebrow doubtfully.

Hermione smiled and nodded. "Ready as I'll ever be. Tell Harry I love him." Before Draco could come up with a response, Hermione downed the potion in one swig and closed her eyes, falling back into the pillow. She was asleep instantly. So instantly that Draco wondered for a moment if she had accidentally poisoned herself and died. But her chest continued to rise and fall, so his panic faded.

Dragging her desk chair closer to her bed, Draco sat down and watched, feeling as creepy as he expected it to. He was shocked to the core that she even trusted him. Hermione was strange, though, and if she wanted to trust the wrong people, then that was her problem.

Draco sat there for a long time. He didn't know how long. Long enough to realize that Hermione had the most quiet, softest snore he'd ever heard and that when she rolled onto her belly, she stayed that way. After a long time, Draco grabbed Hermione wrist and lifted it up to see the face of the watch. He'd been there for fifteen whole minutes.

He was about ready to quit and deliver the disappointing news in the morning when Hermione rolled to her back. Draco held very still. Her eyes opened.

And right away Draco knew it wasn't Hermione. And the words out of her mouth when she looked over and saw him proved it.

"Oh, shit."

…~oOo~…

_Her finger traced each inked letter. The script was black. There was no color, only words and a dandelion next to it – the seeds flying away – inked into his shoulder blade. _

"_You know that place between sleep & awake, where you can still remember dreaming? That's where I'll always love you. That's where I'll be waiting."_

_Chelsea said, "Peter Pan."_

"_Right in one," Adam answered, turning his head on his pillow to look at her. _

"_Why?"_

"_I wanted to carry a part of my Muggle childhood with me," he answered. Adam was rarely serious. Now he was. "The part of my life untainted. Before our war."_

"_And the dandelion?" Chelsea asked. _

"_For when I used to make wishes without magic."_

_Chelsea frowned. "Do you hate magic that much?"_

"_I hate what it's made people do. I hate what people have done with it. I hate that there is such thing as impure magic."_

"_I love magic," Chelsea practically whispered. Her voice had that older, deeper, raspy quality to it. Her short hair, sticking up everywhere, was falling in her eyes. Adam reached up and brushed the bangs from her eyes, making her shiver delightfully. _

"_Why? I'd think you more than anyone have reason to hate it," Adam said, arching an eyebrow. _

_Resting her cheek to his back, over his tattoo, so that he couldn't see her face, she admitted, "It brought me to you." _

"_Chelsea Baker, are you being…romantic?"_

_She frowned. "Stop it."_

"_I can't believe my ears," Adam teased. "I didn't think you had a girlish bone in your body."_

"_All of my bones are girlish," Chelsea grumbled quietly. _

"_You don't say pretty things, Chels. Can't blame me for being shocked."_

"_Is that why you won't be with me? Because I don't say girly, lovey things?"_

"_I won't be with you because you don't want to be with me. You only think you do. Can't we just enjoy what we have?"_

"_A friendship and the occasional lonely night when we search each other out?" _

"_We are so much more than friends, Chelsea."_

"_If you say I'm like a sister," Chelsea said slowly, "I'll vomit."_

_Adam laughed, the sound a deep rumble from his chest. "No. Not at all. You're my Lily."_

"_What's that supposed to mean?"_

"_It's something Draco used to say about Professor Granger."_

"_Oh. That can't be good then."_

"_No. It's wonderful. It's unconditional. It will never change."_

"_It sounds burdensome."_

"_It sounds like a burden I'll love to bear."_

…

Chelsea woke up with tears on her face and a very fuzzy, faint memory of her dream. The headache wasn't so bad. All she needed to do was close her eyes again and fade away, back to her dreams.

…~oOo~…

Harry sat on the side of Hermione's bed, in her body, his knees parted in an unladylike manner while his cradled his face in his hands. The angle at which the knees were open, Draco could see straight up the nighty to Hermione's pale blue panties. He could even enjoy that moment because it wasn't Hermione at all, and instead Harry Fucking Potter – borrowing her hair, her skin, her panties.

It made Draco mad. It felt like Potter was violating her in a weird, otherworldly, undead way.

"Well, I guess you've found out, eh?" Harry said with a heavy sigh, his whole body kind of slouched. It was the typical Man Slouch. It looked wrong. Hermione always held herself straight, nose in the air sometimes.

"How long have you been parading around in Granger's body?" Draco demanded.

Harry shrugged. "Ever since the night where Hermione was at Grimmauld, every few days, I guess. Why was she there, anyway?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "That's irrelevant."

"I was happy to see Teddy," Harry said with a crooked, soft smile. "He's gotten so big."

"Save your sentimentality for someone who can stomach it, Potter," Draco snapped. "The point is that after Grimmauld, you never left Granger a note – not once. You'd better explain."

Harry let out a long breath. "It's complicated."

"A dead man possesses a young woman's body while his arch nemesis has been rallied to help," Draco said bluntly. "We are far past 'complicated'. I_ miss_ complicated. Complicated was back when I could still sleep at night."

Harry rubbed the back of his slender neck in thought, nodding. "Yeah, you're right. Complicated was back when my biggest problem was a life-sized chess set." Harry saw Draco's speculative look and said, "It's a long story. And not really important. Ask Hermione about it sometime – might put a smile on her face."

"You're getting off topic and – even worse than that – nostalgic," Draco told him, narrowing his eyes. "Skip to the part where you tell me exactly why you've been using Granger's body as a bloody wagon for your sorry soul without saying anything."

Harry pressed his lips together, obviously deep in thought, until finally he made a decision. "I'll show you why. Follow me."

They were walking down the corridors, side by side, and it was a little while before Harry said anything. Finally, he spoke, "It was brand new. The pages were still sticky and the binding wasn't cracked."

"A book?" Draco filled in the blanks.

"Yeah," Harry said morosely. "A book. She must gotten Fred and George to order it for her because it was in a box with their address on it with a few other books. I wasn't thrilled where they were from, either."

"Let me guess," Draco said dryly. "Borgin and Burkes."

"How did you know?"

"She's getting desperate," Draco answered. "She's ready to try anything."

Harry's frown deepened. "I know. Which is why I had to hide the book. She hadn't gotten to it yet in her stack of reading, it was at the bottom of the pile. I had this idea, you know? Since she could sleep while I was awake, I could start from the bottom up while she went from the top down and be done half as fast. I wanted to leave notes and references and things for her on the desk. I just…I wanted to help.

"On my first night doing it, I started from the bottom – like I said. That's when I found this book. The front didn't have any English letters, just…Greek, I think. Some kind of symbols. The inside was written in older English, lots of thee's and thou's. And I came across these instructions for a potion. It wasn't good. I don't even want to tell you what it did.

"But you're right – Hermione would try anything. She'll do her little calculations, find every safety precaution possible, and then she'd go through with it, even if a hundred people tell her not to. This one, though…nothing good can come from it.

"Even though it's the only thing that could even have a fifty-fifty chance of working, I'm not going to let Hermione risk it," Harry said firmly. "Even if it means staying kind-of dead."

"Noble," Draco said wryly.

"I know, I know," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "Stupid, noble Gryffindors."

"In this case," Draco said, "I was going to give credit to your nobility. But that doesn't mean I think you're any less stupid. Now, why are we going towards the library?"

"It's where I hid the book," Harry said.

Draco halted. He blinked. He considered this. He took a moment to decide what he was going to say and went with polite. "And why, pray tell, did you hide it in the library? The very place Granger spends more time than anywhere else?"

"I was trying to be sneaky," Harry said as if it should be obvious. "Hide it right under her nose. The most obvious place."

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. "You have been out of the game far too long. Those kind of tactics are only useful if someone is actively looking for something. Has Hermione even noticed this book missing?"

There was a pause before Harry said, "I'm not sure."

"Exactly. So we're going to bugger your shitty attempt at being a Slytherin and hide the book in the most obscure place possible," Draco said, very slowly. Maybe if he pronounced each word very clearly, they'd penetrate his thick skull.

Harry's nose wrinkled. "Don't talk to me like I'm a toddler."

"Don't do stupid toddler-like things then," Draco said, resuming walking. He made his strides deliberately wide so that Harry, with girlish, shorter legs, had a difficult time keeping up. "I swear, it's something Teddy would have thought of. Hiding a book from Hermione in a library. I swear…"

"Did you just call her Hermione?"

Draco didn't miss a beat. "That's her name, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but you call her Granger," Harry said. "In case you two have become buddies or something, I don't see why that would change. Are you sure you two aren't married?"

"I would remember if I married that frizzy-haired swot, trust me," Draco snapped, on his last nerve. "Why are you so calm and collected? Why aren't you being more temperamental and moody and brooding like you used to be?"

"I've had a lot of time to meditate," Harry said with a nod. "I used to think it was stupid. But when you're stuck alone in a train-less King's Cross Station with a very creepy, tiny piece of Voldemort under your bench, you'll kind of do anything to keep yourself from going insane."

Draco wasn't even going to ask about the tiny Voldemort stuck between death and life, because he felt like he could only handle so much in one night.

"But you're right," Harry said. "I feel a lot more peaceful, you know? I think it might be because the part of Voldemort planted in me died. Maybe this was how I was supposed to be. Less moody and brooding and angsty."

"Angsty," Draco mused. "You can say that again."

"You're one to talk," Harry said as they came upon the library doors. He shoved them open and led Draco inside. "You were pretty angst-ridden yourself, befriending ghosts and crying in bathrooms."

"I'd shut your mouth if I were you," Draco said tightly. "I'm hardly the same sniveling, cowardly boy I was at school. You'll learn that very quickly if you return."

"Not sure I will," Harry said, waving Draco to follow him into the stacks. "Like I said, this potion seemed to be the only real possibility and I'm just not going to let Hermione try it."

"Why not someone else, then," Draco said. "I could try the method out. Hermione doesn't have to know."

Harry was shaking his head. "No. I wouldn't subject anyone to this. The book, the potion, are outlawed for a reason. I found another book about the creator of the potion. All of his works and texts were burned by the Ministry – good riddance too. The guy was a nutcase. Obsessed with necromancy and the undead. I kind of remember learning a little about him in History of Magic, but I never did pay much attention in that class."

Harry then, without warning, began scaling one of the tall bookshelves without a ladder, planting his feet in spots without books. Draco forced his eyes downward, away from the blue panties and pale white thighs.

Harry went to the top and yanked down one of the books. He dropped the book and Draco snatched it out of the air flawlessly. He smirked to himself. He wasn't losing his Seeker reflexes, that was for sure. Not that he was worried about it – it was just nice to think that he hadn't completely lost a childhood hobby.

A moment later, Harry hopped down next to him, took the book in his hands and turned it to the right page. Draco looked at it, skimmed a few lines, and then felt the blood go from his face in a cold rush. He swallowed and reread it.

"This needs to be hidden way better," Draco said solemnly. "And I think I might know the place."

…

"It's dark."

"No shit."

"I mean, like…really dark. Not even normal dark. Like the air is made of ink."

"A stunning metaphor. But you see my problem."

"So…Lumos doesn't work? Or candles? Nothing?"

"Nothing. The room blows the candles out and kills the Lumos."

"Hmm. Well, it would be a good place to hide the book…" There was a long pause and a gasp.

Draco jumped. "What!"

"I have an idea!"

"Christ, Potter, I thought something bad happened," Draco snarled.

"No, no, no, you don't understand. I've had a brilliant idea!"

"Somehow I doubt that."

"This was Dumbledore's home, right? I think I may know how to turn the lights back on. But the only problem is that Ron has it and you'll have to get it from him somehow."

In the darkness, Draco smirked. "That won't be a problem."

It seemed like Draco would be cashing in his favor from Ron Weasley sooner than he expected.

…~oOo~…

~ So Long And Thanks For All The Fish ~


	17. Chapter Sixteen: In Which There Is Light

A/N. I had a really difficult conversation with an aunt recently, and I wanted to tell all of you what I took away from it.

No matter who is in your life, whether you had a choice in them or not – they have no right to your pain. They have no right to act as if your struggle is their own. Because life is HARD. And the only way to make it through is with faith and if you love every single little piece of yourself. Maybe there are some parts you want to change – we all have them – but if you didn't have those little flaws, you wouldn't be YOU. And I don't know you, but I love you because you ARE you.

This might not make any sense, but never let anyone tell you that there is a part of you that doesn't belong in this world, in their lives, or in your soul. Believe in, and love, yourself.

And if anyone says that not every bit of you is amazing, let me know. I'll give em hell. (Unless you are making seriously bad, illegal choices. In which case I'd probably give you a very stern talking-to about how to treat yourself and other people. But I'd still love you, and so should your family).

…~oOo~…

Chapter Sixteen: In Which There Is Light

Striding through the back door of Weasley Wizard Wheezes, Draco felt good about something for the first time in a while. Not that he was going anything morally good. Not at all. He was going to abuse the fact that he saved Ron Weasley's life in order to rob the ginger idiot. Hermione had told him that Ron was staying with his twin brothers ever since his injury because he didn't want his mother smothering him.

Draco had access to the twins' flat for very obvious reasons. When you are a spy, you need multiple possible safe-houses. Places to sleep or hide at a moment's notice. The twins hated Draco, but at least they knew he was one of the good guys.

Finding Ron Weasley hobbling around the kitchen with a cane was a little too satisfying. Under different circumstances, if Draco wasn't mad with jealousy over Ron's old fling with Hermione, he wouldn't think twice about it – Ron Weasley wasn't worth his time. But now there was just some kind of justice to seeing the redheaded man grumbling to himself and gimping around.

"Weasley," Draco said.

Ron almost jumped, if he could jump at all. Instead he did this awkward startled stumble thing that knocked his coffee into the sink and made him slam into the counter. "Shit!" Ron hissed, rubbing his hip and holding himself up. "What the fuck is wrong with you, Malfoy?" Ron snapped. "Where did you come from?"

"Back door," Draco said, rolling his eyes. "You should really be more aware of your surroundings. Imagine if it had been someone more evil than me."

"No one's more evil than you, you ferret-faced bastard," Ron growled, obviously in a particularly cantankerous mood. He had dark circles under his eyes and his hair was everywhere. He was shirtless, wearing flannel pajama bottoms, and that was it. His gait was awkward, one leg completely stiff and the other ankle pigeon-toed. It was kind of painful to imagine walking like that.

"Alright, let's just skip over the insults and mutual hatred," Draco said simply, tucking his hands into his pockets leisurely. "Normally I'd love to do the arch nemeses tango with you, but today I have better things to do."

Scratching his chest, Ron said, "What do you want, Malfoy? I'm busy myself."

Draco looked at his pajama pants pointedly. "Busy? Busy doing what? Wanking?"

Ron turned beet red. "I could kick you out, you know!"

"No, you couldn't," Draco said confidently. "My point is, you owe me a favor."

"I don't owe you anything."

This was better than he thought it was going to be. Draco smiled without any malice, his eyes dancing with mischief. "How wrong you are. I think you'll find that you owe me your life. Or are you forgetting the whole situation where you buried yourself alive and I risked my own arse you get you out?"

Looking defeated and furious, Ron sighed and said, "What do you want? It's not like I can do much." He gestured vaguely to his legs.

"The Deluminator. I know you have it. Hand it over."

Shell-shocked, Ron sputtered for a moment. "_H-how do you know about that_?"

"A little birdie told me."

"There is no way Hermione would have told you that!" Ron shouted.

"It wasn't Hermione," Draco said bluntly. "I'm not saying who, so forget about it. Give me the Deluminator and don't tell anyone I have it. That's the favor I'm asking for in exchange for the Life Debt." The blonde shrugged.

"Well, you can't have it!" Ron said, his ears blazing crimson. "Dumbledore left it to _me_!"

"In retrospect, this isn't a bad deal," Draco said with a shrug. "I could be asking for eternal servitude or a kidney. But seeing as house-elves are far more interesting than you could ever be and I'd never want a single piece of you in my body, I'd say you're getting off pretty easy." Holding out his hand, knowing Ron's protesting was futile, he said, "Give it up."

Glaring darkly, Ron demanded, "What do you even want it for? It's basically just a toy."

"Let's just say it's the key to a very important puzzle I am solving," Draco said simply. "I won't ask again, Weasley."

Ron paused, his eyes narrowing further. "The Deluminator and my silence. That's it and you'll never bother me for anything ever again?"

"Not unless I drag your pale, freckled arse out from under a pile of rubbish again," Draco promised.

Heaving a sigh, Ron turned around and hobbled out of the kitchen, gesturing for Draco to follow him. Ron led him to his bedroom where he shoved the door open and went to his bedside. The bedside table was littered with junk – a coffee mug, sweets wrappers, Keeper gloves, and two picture frames. In the larger photo was the Golden Trio, before 1994 because Hermione's teeth were still huge. Hermione was reading in the picture, predictably, while Harry and Ron played Chess. It must have been in the Gryffindor Common Room.

The smaller photo, though, was of just Hermione. She was wearing a cardigan, her hair in a bun, a scarf wrapped around her neck. It was snowing around her and she was laughing so hard, her eyes were tearing.

Ron caught Draco staring and glared at him before flipping Hermione's photo down. He shoved aside some of the trash and came up with the Deluminator. It looked like a silver cigarette lighter with pretty, swirling markings.

"You click this," Ron said. He did just that and the light in the room was sucked up by the little device. "And you click it again." The lights returned to their spots. "So easy, even an idiot like you can do it," Ron said resentfully, slapping the device into Draco's palm forcefully. "Anything else you'd like to steal from me, Your Royal Arseness?"

"What's that?" Draco said, gesturing to the thing hanging over the bed.

"Dream Catcher," Ron said. "Hermione made it for me. Said she learned all about them during a trip to America when she visited some reservation. Keeps bad dreams away, supposedly, but so far it's rubbish."

Interesting, Draco thought. "Hmm. Well, I'm done here." He pocketed the Deluminator. I'll let you get back to your incessant masturbating."

"Get out before I beat you with my cane," Ron said, sounding suddenly exhausted, dropping onto his bed with a groan, rubbing his thigh with a scrunched face.

Without another word, Draco left.

…

When Draco walked into the kitchen at Mould-on-the-Wold for lunch, he found Neville Longbottom putting a few unidentifiable vegetables into jars. He seemed to be pickling them, whatever they were. The girl Chelsea stood by his side, looking at the vegetables swimming in juices. She held one between her palms and gazed at it blankly.

"Oh, hey, Malfoy," Neville said, realizing his presence. Chelsea continued to stare at the jar. It was a little creepy, honestly. It was just a pickled vegetable, Draco had no idea what was so hypnotizing about it. "Where've you been?"

"Out," Draco said simply, going to the fridge. He was feeling hungry for the first time in a while. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I've been working on this little magical-Muggle hybrid vegetables and herbs garden with the students and a few have grown quicker than expected," Neville explained eagerly. "This one here is a radish crossed with a Nettle and that's a carrot and Mandrake – that one's really interesting because it had most of the same properties as Mandragora without the screaming and –"

"Really, Longbottom, do I look like I know anything about Herbology, let alone care?" Draco cut in, sick of hearing his voice.

Longbottom's face didn't crumble when someone shut him down like it used to. Instead he even looked a little amused. "Didn't you get your OWL in Herbology?"

Draco didn't answer. Of course he did. He was almost at the top of their Year and would have been number one if it weren't for certain Death Eater extracurricular activities and a certain Muggle-born swot.

"Hermione is in the sitting room," Longbottom said, changing the subject.

"And I would care about her location, why?" Draco said, hiding the fact that he was actually grateful for the knowledge. He closed the fridge after pulling out a jar of jam.

Longbottom shrugged. "You two seem to be getting along better lately."

"I don't _get along_ with anyone, and you'd do best to remember that," Draco said, but there was no real conviction behind it.

"Professor Granger was asking about you," Chelsea said out of nowhere.

Draco stalled completely for a moment before saying slowly, "Was she?"

"Yes," Chelsea said simply, never looking him in the eyes and giving the jar in her hands a little shake. The radish hybrid wiggled as if it were alive.

"What did she say?" Draco said, trying to sound indifferent.

Chelsea shrugged, putting the jar on the counter. "She asked if we saw you. We hadn't. She seemed worried."

"Hermione_ is_ quite the mother hen," Neville said, nodding. "Always concerned about the people she cares about. Better go check in with her, just so she knows you haven't been eaten by some kind of beast while walking about the grounds."

"Do you want toast?" Chelsea asked abruptly.

Draco blinked. "How did you know?"

She pointed wordlessly at the jam in her hands. "I can make it for you."

"Erm…sure," Draco said, slowly giving her the jam. Frankly, the girl was starting to weird him out. She seemed paler and had dark circles under her eyes, just like Weasley's. She was always quiet and a little odd, he thought, but she was starting to get bizarre.

"I'll be…right back," Draco said, turning and leaving the room promptly away from the smallish zombie girl. He shook his head, clearing it, and headed towards the sitting room. Of course he was going to see Hermione. He was a pathetic wanker in love, remember?

In the sitting room, he found her sitting on the couch, a very familiar little boy curled up on her lap, his arms wrapped around her neck and his head hidden in her hair. By the way she was gently rocking him and rubbing circles on his back, Draco guessed that Teddy was on his way to a nap.

Never thinking much about family or being a parent, Draco realized then why so many men wanted tons of children. It was more than being a father – it was seeing moments like these. Their wives and partners holding their infants or toddlers close, looking so serene and so beautiful that the fabled glow was almost visible. Even though Teddy wasn't Hermione's son biologically, it didn't matter. He was hers. And Draco knew the living arrangements for Teddy were killing her more than anything in the war could.

For whatever reason, maybe he was breathing too loud, Hermione's head turned to see Draco in the doorway. She smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. She gave him a little wave with her hand and nodded for him to come in. "He's asleep," she told Draco, tilting her head to rest against the little boy's.

"I'm back," Draco said lowly.

"I see that," she said with that same gentle smile. She seemed to at peace just then instead of frazzled and anxious like she normally was. "I hope you travelled safely."

Draco nodded.

"Sit down," Hermione said. "I don't bite. And Teddy won't wake for a while yet. He's a deep sleeper."

He hesitated, but Draco did sit down next to Hermione, facing her slightly. She was sitting in the very corner of the couch, looking comfy and warm with Teddy's blanket draped across them both.

"Andromeda went to talk with McGonagall," Hermione said. "Something about the people she believed her following her in France. So I'm babysitting for a few hours."

Draco said, "You shouldn't only be babysitting." He didn't know why he said it, but it needed to be said. "Andromeda was wrong for dropping in and taking him away."

Shaking her head, Hermione said, "She's is grandmother. She has every right to be Teddy's primary caregiver."

"You've been taking care of Teddy for a year and a half, more than half of the time he's been alive," Draco pointed out. "You're his mother in every way besides blood."

Hermione's brow furrowed. "Why do you care?"

_Because I can see your spirit slowly dying_. "You love him."

"Yes, but that has nothing to do with you."

"Teddy should be with you," Draco said. "It's as simple as that."

Hermione's eyes welled up with tears, but she blinked them away. "I…I know."

"Then do something about it," Draco said firmly. "When did you become so docile?"

"Stop it," Hermione said, her eyes flickering with anger. "You don't know anything about how complicated the situation is. Andromeda, as kind as she is, still blames me for what happened to Remus. She would never show or admit it, but the way she looks at me sometimes… it's not hatred at all, but despair and disappointment. I took her grandson's father away. She adored Remus and feels like Teddy is an orphan because of me."

"That's just…" Draco searched for a word. "Idiotic."

"It's not really," Hermione mumbled. "It makes sense."

"Her husband was Muggle-born, wasn't he? She knows how psychotic the Dark Lord is when it comes to Muggle-borns. It doesn't take a genius to realize the situation you'd been in hadn't been your fault and nor was Lupin's sacrifice," Draco said sternly, her voice low. "She should be kissing your feet for taking care of Teddy while she ran off with her tail between her legs to France, leaving him behind like he's a pet she can abandon and then pick up whenever she likes."

Draco could tell he was voicing all the resentments Hermione had been keeping in her head for the sake of politeness and selflessness. She continued to rub Teddy's back, the little boy wiggling a little to nuzzle closer into her neck in his sleep.

"Thank you," Hermione said simply.

"What for? Being a prick?"

"For…saying it," Hermione said. He knew what she meant. She was thanking him for saying it so she didn't have to.

"Whatever," Draco said with a shrug, leaning back into the couch. "Whenever you feel like hearing what your dark side has to say, I'll be around, I guess."

"You missed Teddy, too," Hermione said knowingly. "Why?"

For a long time, Draco thought on this. Finally he decided to go with the truth. "A man told me once to choose a beacon," Draco said, looking ahead, refusing to meet Hermione's eyes. "Something to dedicate my struggles too.

"If there is anybody I'd want to make this world better for," he said, "it would be that little beast right there."

Hermione was in awe. Never had Draco said something so personal, so honest, so…beautiful.

He secretly had a kind heart. Hermione smiled. It was a nice thing to know.

…~oOo~…

"_You've always made the best cup of tea."_

_Professor Granger smiled. "Thank you. I like to think I know my way around a kettle."_

_Chelsea grinned back, happy she could brighten her mentor's face. _

"_So what was it that you wanted to talk about?" Professor Granger asked, sipping her own mug. The woman didn't look much different from the day she met her, only a little older. Her face was wrinkle-less. _

_Chelsea shifted, tucked one of her legs under her on the sofa. "You've heard about Adam and Yvette getting engaged, I'm sure."_

_Nodding, Professor Granger frowned. "I'm sorry, Chelsea. That must be hard."_

_Chelsea shrugged. "It's not that bad." Which was a lie._

"_I wouldn't give up hope yet," Professor Granger said. "They're awfully young. Still in the honeymoon phase. A lot of teenage engagements break before a wedding can even be planned."_

"_He loves her."_

"_I know."_

"_I love him."_

_Professor Granger nodded. "I know."_

_Chelsea crossed her legs, feeling fidgety. "It's because I'm…odd, isn't it?"_

"_Why would you think that? There's nothing odd about you, Chelsea."_

_Chelsea gave her a blunt look. "You don't have to lie to me. I know how I am. I can't help it, but I'm aware of it."_

_Professor Granger shrugged. "So what? You're a little quirky! Aren't we all? I think a touch of queer is a thousand times more interesting than people who spend every day trying to blend in perfectly with society. Where's the fun in being the ordinary when you can be extraordinary? And as…pretty and giggly as Yvette is, she lacks a certain… I don't know…originality."_

"_You're just saying that to make me feel better," Chelsea moped. "How did you do it?"_

"_Do what?" Professor Granger asked, but of course she knew what Chelsea was talking about. _

"_When Mr. Malfoy… you know…"_

"_That was a different situation," the older woman said simply, stirring her tea absently. _

"_But still. How did you cope?"_

_Professor Granger chuckled, shaking her head. "I really didn't. I cried a lot. But I changed my routine, drank gallons of tea laced with Calming Draught a day, and just…tried not to think about it. That isn't coping, really, just avoiding the issue, which wasn't healthy."_

"_Maybe I'll start drinking," Chelsea mused. "It seems to work for Mr. George."_

"_Mr. George has a myriad of troubles that cannot be solved with liquor," Professor Granger said primly, obviously disapproving. "I don't claim to be a saint, but I've never turned to drink when things got rough. I always kept moving. It's the only way to survive."_

"_Lesbianism," Chelsea said. "If I can't be a drunk, I'll be a lesbian."_

_At that, Professor Granger laughed quite hard. "Good luck! Men are difficult enough as it is – can you imagine trying to understand another woman? We are complex beings, none of us are the same, we're hormonal and moody… My Merlin, I can only imagine." She laughed some more. _

"_I should get a hobby," Chelsea said. "Something besides dueling and transporting illegal goods underground for the Order."_

"_Knitting is fun."_

"_No, it's not."  
_

_Professor Granger sighed. "You're right. It's really not."_

...~oOo~…

Holding the Deluminator in his palm, Draco mentally prepared himself for the possibilities. A dungeon for torture was a familiar concept, so he could at least grasp that. Maybe there were piles of dead bodies. Maybe boxes of old family things. Or maybe it was empty. The cellar could be any of those things and many more.

The answer was a simply press of his thumb away.

Closing his eyes, Draco pressed the button. Even through his eyelids, he saw the light. The Deluminator had worked.

After a deep breath, Draco opened his eyes.

…~oOo~…

~ So Long And Thanks For All The Fish ~


	18. Chapter Seventeen: In Which They Give Up

A/N. Reviewer **JustAsSane** MADE MY DAY when she said she was a "hardcore Chadam shipper"! Oh my goodness, no one's ever given my characters a ship-name before! I screamed in excitement, woke the baby, then called everyone I knew to tell them about Chadam.

So… are you a Chadam shipper? Or do you ship Adam and Yvette in this parallel story that's going on in Chelsea's dreams?

…~oOo~…

Chapter Seventeen: In Which They Give Up

It hadn't been what he expected at all. In some ways it was a relief. In others it wasn't.

The cellar was large and circular and completely lined with shelves. These shelves held a sundry of things. Books, of course, but also bottles and jars of every shape and color you can imagine. The light from the chandelier reflected off the colorful glass, creating rainbows and stain-glass window-like patterns across the floor. There were multiple tables, scattered around, a few small ones and a one large rectangular one that sat in the center and was littered with old, moldy parchments, a cauldron, a map that was not of Britain or any continent he'd ever seen before, among other rusted and odd tools.

The other tables each held different things. One held this very large, glass, dark green sphere. It was smooth and hollow. When Draco peered inside it, he could have sword he saw something black move inside of it. Draco jerked back, not daring to touch it or look at it further.

And then there was a collection of metal boxes, what looked to be bird cages, and a very large trunk with an old, aged and dirtied padlock. It was covered by a thin layer of dust and cobwebs, as was the rest of the room. Something was different about this trunk, though. It was very old, the corners no longer sharp, but rounded from being lifted and put down many times. There were remnants of letters on the front of it, but they were faded away and unreadable.

Draco strolled around the room for a few minutes, winding between the tables and boxes, thinking. He didn't know how to react until he spotted something tall in a corner, covered with a white sheet. It didn't look at coated in dust as the rest of the room. Draco moved to stand in front of it. It was taller than me, shaped like an arch…

Slowly, he reached out, closing his fist around the fabric and pulling it away gently.

Under it was a mirror. A large mirror with strange writing across the top of it. The glass was clear and free of cracks or dents or fingerprints. He saw himself, wearing the white oxford shirt he was wearing, rolled up to the elbows, and a dark pair of trousers. He looked down at his shirt, wondering if it was truly that wrinkled – it was – and when he looked up into the mirror once more, Hermione was behind him.

Jumping in surprised and whirling around, he found no one behind him. The room was as empty as it had been moments before. Looking back into the mirror, deeply confused, he watched as Hermione, wearing a smile, walking around to his side, curling her arms around his and resting her head on his shoulder. Again, Draco had to look at his arm to make sure she wasn't there.

In the reflection, Hermione's fingertips brushed his forearm. Something looked wrong there. He looked down, saw his Dark Mark, and when he looked up he realized that he didn't have the tattoo in the mirror. Holding up his arm, his mirror-self doing the same, and saw it clean and bare. It pulled at his gut when he looked at his real arm again, branded with the skull and serpent still.

What was this mirror? Did it tell the future? No, it couldn't. The Dark Mark was permanent.

He watched, entranced as Hermione winded her arms around his waist and closed her eyes, nuzzling his chest.

And then he figured it out. This mirror showed his dreams, his secret wishes. His deepest desires.

But where did it come from and how did it end up in Dumbledore's childhood home's cellar?

Draco couldn't look in the mirror much longer. Not without punching it. He went to look at that weird map on the large table, finding multiple cartography devices, and a curious-looking key. He was about to try the key in the trunk when his left forearm began to burn intensely.

He would have to save the rest of his investigation for later.

…~oOo~…

Feeling heavy and tired, Draco trekked up the staircase and straight to his bedroom. He would forego dinner in order to get some sleep. It was the middle of the night, he'd been gone since the night before and all of the day, and while he'd kill for a sandwich and some scotch, he was dead on his feet.

He opened his door with his whole body because his arms didn't have enough strength on their own – that's how exhausted he was.

And when he turned on his lights, he found Hermione sitting on his bed. He only started slightly and couldn't help a small smile. "Nice trick." _She's probably here to find out where I've been all day. _

Hermione shrugged. "I try my best."

"Shouldn't you be sleeping?" Draco asked, rubbing his eyes and setting his Death Eater mask on his desk.

"I wanted to ask you how your visit with Ron went."

"How do you know I…" Draco blinked and then swore. "Dammit, Potter! I thought you were really her."

Harry Potter's entire expression changed, frowning deeply and looked annoyed. "Oh, I'm well aware. Why did you seem so unsurprised to have Hermione in your bedroom, exactly?"

"I'm tired, you ponce!" Draco said, dragging his hands down his face. "Just…leave me alone tonight, alright? Come back tomorrow."

"Why is the book still in your bedside?"

"I didn't have time to hide it in the room today. I have other things to do besides be at your beck and call every evening," Draco snapped. "Can I sleep now?"

Harry Potter stretched across the bed and did his best come-hitcher pose. "Only if we get to cuddle, darling."

"You're sick, did you know that?" Draco demanded, unbuttoning his shirt with more force than was necessary. "Being dead sas made you a freak. Float on back to your train station, Potter, but before you do – do me a favor and bring Hermione's body back to her own bed."

"You haven't told Hermione, have you?" Harry asked out of nowhere, stretching out on Draco's comforter.

"Of course not," Draco grumbled. "That's what we agreed to, wasn't it? Make sure that she has no clue you're still possessing her at night so that she gives up on trying to save you. The only real downside I see to the plan is that I, apparently, have to deal with your sorry, undead arse for the rest of my life."

"Maybe I'll pass over before then," Harry said. "And maybe we'll become the absolute best of friends." He gasped with mock excitement. "Doesn't that sound fun, Malfoy!"

"If I have to rip your soul from her body and drag you to the afterlife myself, I'll do it, so don't test me, Potter."

"You're grumpy."

"I wonder why?" Draco said sarcastically, sneering at Harry.

"You can confide in me, you know," Harry said. "Dead men don't talk, and all that."

"I preferred you before this whole 'I meditate and have inner-peace now' thing happened. Hate me again, I beg you."

"Won't happen," Harry said cheerfully. "I figure being nice to you when you

"You can confide in me, you know," Harry said. "Dead men don't talk, and all that."

"I preferred you before this whole 'I meditate and have inner-peace now' thing happened. Ha slete me again, I beg you."

"Won't happen," Harry said cheerfully. "I figure being nice to you when you can't hex me is a thousand times more irksome than if I was hateful. And being your personal poltergeist on top of that only makes it better."

Draco should have known. Of course this was paybacks. Shaking his head, he stripped off his shirtsleeves and moved to stand over the bed. "Up. I'm going to sleep."

"How much would you hate me if I curled up next to you while you slept?" Harry asked, eyes wide an innocent. "And maybe, just maybe, I'll stay here until Hermione wakes up. Imagine her confusion, her horror, when she wakes up next to you with no memory of how she got there. And what if she were… oh, I don't know… in very little clothing?"

Fury boiled in Draco's chest. "I swear, I'll –"

"You'll what? Hurt me? You can't because that would mean hurting Hermione," Harry said confidently.

"What. Do. You. Want?"

"I just want you to tell the truth," Harry said, sitting up and back to looking serious. "What's up with you and Hermione?"

"Nothing!"

"Are you sure? Because I found her diary tonight," Harry said, "and I read the most recent entry. She wrote about her little chat with you yesterday after you showed up in the sitting room while she was holding Teddy. She said, and I quote, 'I saw a change in him, a softness that I haven't seen before. Not just in him, but in anyone. It was more than softness, but…a sadness as well. I've found myself smiling whenever I think back on it. And I think back on it far too often'." Harry glared. "Do you know how long I puzzled over that damn quote? Like something out of a bloody Jane Austen novel!" He shoved himself up on his feet and stood his fool height in front of Draco, shoulders squared. "Whatever games you're playing with Hermione, stop before I do something about it."

"_I'm not playing any games_," Draco spat.

"Then why is she falling in love with you!"

Freezing for a second, Draco swallowed before commanding lowly, "What?"

"You heard me," Harry said, his expression dark.

"Don't be daft," Draco said. "She isn't in love with me."

Harry shook his head. "No. Not yet. But it's happening, and quick. I can feel the her trust for you shifting. At first I thought you two were just becoming weird friends, but after reading that entry…" He licked his lips, obviously still trying to fathom it all, even though he was the one that sensed her feelings. "It made sense."

"Well, what the fuck do you want me to do about it?" Draco said, far louder than he intended, throwing his arms open wide. "It isn't my fault that she's come up with this imaginary, sad, misunderstood and changing anti-hero out of me!"

"You need to put a stop to her feelings," Harry said firmly. "Say something, do something, anything to make it perfectly clear that you would never in a million years see her as more than a thorn in your side."

"Why?" Draco demanded, feeling a pang deep in his chest. Why? Why did he have to do that? Why did he have to destroy his chances – chances that he didn't even know existed until moments before? Hermione was falling in love with him. It was simultaneously the most wonderful and dreadful news he'd ever heard.

Why couldn't he have someone who loved him? Why couldn't he have a glimpse at happiness?

"She has enough problems without adding you to the list," Harry said, eyes narrowed. "I don't care how you feel, Draco. Even if you care about her, you've only ever been heading towards a very dark place, and I'll be damned before I let you drag her down with you."

"_I know_!" Draco bellowed, making Harry flinch. It was quiet for a moment before Draco nodded, his anger crumbling and becoming despair. "I know. Alright? I do. I promise, I'll take care of it. Just…leave."

Harry did leave then. He'd made his point. Draco slumped down onto his mattress, onto his belly and buried his face in his pillow. Closing his eyes, he mercifully slipped away and he didn't have a single dream that night.

…~oOo~…

"_Mag, you better make this quick," Chelsea said, her hands in the pockets of her oversized greatcoat. A badly knit scarf wrapped over her head and mouth and neck, shielding her face from passersby. It was dark and snowy on the streets of a small village, a few witches and wizards passing by. She heard Christmas carols being sung in the distance and roaring laughter from the pub. _

_The girl, Mag, had crazy black hair, braided in a hundred different ways, all piled on top of her head haphazardly, like it could all fall out at any moment. She wore a lot of eye make-up and plenty of shiny lip-stuff. Chelsea never did get why girls wore so much crap caked on their faces. _

"_I've got product to move tonight, Mag," Chelsea said, feeling the Ministry-banned Extendable Ears in her pockets. She had three deliveries of banned items to move before Christmas. "Hurry up. What intel do you have?"_

"_Rumor is the Minister's gone mad," Mag said urgently, leaning close to Chelsea, her voice low. Chelsea saw the girl's tongue ring peek out at she spoke. Mag was one of the most exotic witches Chelsea had ever met – one of the more modern ones. The ones who went beyond the walls of wizarding society to see the Muggle world, even as it deteriorated. _

"_He's always been mad," Chelsea grumbled. _

"_No, I mean certifiably bonkers, Chels," Mag said, her dark blue eyes wide and worried. "The other officials 'ave been saying 'e 'asn't left 'is office in days. Say all they 'ear from inside is a bunch of crashes and bellows and banging. They're wondering 'ow long before people start noticing 'e 'asn't made an appearance in some time."_

_Chelsea was shaking her head. "This can't be good." Nothing could be worse than the Minister being unstable. He was a psychopath as it was. But there was really nothing she or the Order could do. _

_There was a long pause between the two girls. _

"_Chelsea," Mag said quietly. "You're only seventeen. You should not be moving illegal documents and items and intel. It's not safe."_

"_It's sort of what I do now." Chelsea shrugged self-consciously. _

"_I haven't seen Adam around helping you much lately," Mag said, pursing her lips in concern. "Where has 'e been, slacking off?"_

"_Wedding planning," Chelsea said evasively._

"_A wedding in the middle of this madness?" Mag scoffed, totally hacked off. "You can tell 'im that ol' Mag thinks she should bugger off with this stupid wedding shit. Yvette too, that little bitch."_

"_Watch it," Chelsea said, without real feeling. She kicked the snow at her feet. "I am her maid of honor, after all."_

_Mag gasped. "No! No way! Absolutely not! She made you maid of honor? Even after knowing about you and Adam's past? That slag is rubbing it in your face!"_

_Chelsea hushed Mag. She looked around making sure no one heard Mag's outburst before whispering, "She doesn't know about Adam and me and our… 'past'. And it's going to stay that way."_

_Shaking her head, obviously beyond anger, Mag said, "So 'e is a liar now, huh? I 'ave 'alf a mind to rearrange 'is male bits."_

"_He's not lying to her," Chelsea said, adjusting her scarf a little. "We just agreed that it never happened. We were only sixteen. It's barely a blip on the radar in the long run."_

"_Is that what 'e told you?" Mag demanded with attitude. _

_Chelsea shook her head. "It's what I told him." She continued to look at her feet, embarrassed._

_At that, Mag melted, looking sympathetic and sad. "Oh, darling, I'm sorry. You've always been so selfless. I don't know how you do it." _

"_I have to go, Mag," Chelsea said with a sigh. "Stay safe." _

…~oOo~…

"Whoa."

"I know," Draco said, an eyebrow arched at the vast cellar. Looking at it again, he realized it looked like an old laboratory crossed with a museum. "I have a task for you, Adam."

"What's that?" Adam said, looking entranced by the room already.

Draco held the key he found by the map in front of Adam's face to get his attention.

"What's that go to?" Adam asked.

"I haven't the foggiest," Draco said, putting the key in Adam's palm. "It's your job to find out."

Looking up at Draco in absolute awe, Adam said in disbelief, "Really?"

"Yup. Just don't touch any of the books with runes on them and stay away from that green glass ball, I don't have a great feeling about it," Draco said. "And that, over there, with the sheet over it. Don't remove that sheet. I've done charms over the rest of it – most of it is relatively safe. You might get knocked on your arse by a few temperamental books, but you'll get over it.

"The key doesn't work on the trunk. While you're looking for the right lock, also look for that key. I just don't have the time to deal with this," Draco said, crossing his arms. "Bring your little girlfriend with you, if you like. Maybe she can help you tidy it up."

"But, Professor," Adam said slowly, "if this room is mostly harmless…why was it so heavily warded?"

"Probably because Dumbledore was a paranoid old man who wanted to hide all of his toys from prying eyes," Draco said with a shrug. "There were probably constantly going in and out of his office at Hogwarts, so I can imagine he wanted a more private place to stash his treasures."

"How do you know this was Dumbledore's secret room?" Adam inquired.

"His full name is written out on the back of that map," Draco said simply. "Well, have at. I've got things to do. Don't drink from any of the bottles or use fire or do anything stupid. Like I said, get your little friend – she's a sight more clever than you, after all." With that, Draco scaled back up the steps.

Now it was time for his big moment. He'd mapped it out in his head that morning while he was drinking coffee and drinking in the sight of the gloriously sleep-rumpled Hermione. He would miss that sight.

If Hermione couldn't love him, he would make her hate him. Maybe it was stupid, but it had to be done.

He marched right up to her classroom, hesitating only when he heard a small little voice from within that wasn't Hermione's.

"…and that was it. I left the girl."

"How long have you been having these dreams, Chelsea?"

"A few weeks."

"Why didn't you come to me sooner?" Hermione asked gently.

"I thought they were just dreams."

"What made you come to me now?"

"This last dream… I knew too much, I feel. About what was banned by the Ministry. And about where I was. It was a wizarding town, wasn't it? I've never been to one."

"It was, I believe," Hermione confirmed. "The pub that you described had a pig on the sign, yes? So it was likely Hogsmeade. Chelsea, I'm going to need you to write down every single detail of your dreams the morning after you have them. I can tell you aren't telling me everything, and that's alright. Some things are private. But make sure to record every detail, alright? But don't worry – it could be nothing at all."

"Thank you, Professor."

"You are welcome, Chelsea. I think Professor Malfoy asked to speak with Adam, so why don't you look for Yvette? I'm sure you two can study together," Hermione said.

"Yes, ma'am."

A moment later, Chelsea scurried out of the classroom, breezing right past Draco like she didn't even see him. Her eyes had been focused on her feet as she fast-walked away. Draco watched the girl practically jog away, turning a corner in the corridor and disappearing.

Hesitating for a second, Draco pushed the classroom door back open. Hermione was sitting at her desk, reading something. But she wasn't really reading, more like looking through the book. She was distracted.

"Granger," Draco said, announcing his presence.

When she looked up, she smiled. It was that smile that almost had him redact his plan. But he forced that feeling away. He would go through with this. It killed two birds with one stone – made Hermione hate him and made sure she stopped looking for answers concerning Potter.

"Hello, Malfoy," Hermione said, her eyes shining. "How are you?"

Draco didn't answer, just walked up to his desk, wearing his cool and detached mask of angst and put his hands in his pockets. "What are you reading?"

"Some inconclusive Arithmancy formulas concerning the Veil," Hermione said dismissively, shutting the book. "I wasn't getting anywhere with it. Is there anything you need?"

Draco took a deep breath before saying, "It's time you give this up."

Hermione blinked. "What?"

"You heard me," Draco said, making his voice hard. "Whether or not Potter's been possessing you without our knowing isn't the problem. The problem is that he is gone and you're having a hell of a hard time coming to terms with that. It's making you distracted and, frankly, sloppy."

Looking stunned and a little offended, Hermione said, "I appreciate your concern for me, Malfoy, but –"

Draco scoffed. "Oh, please. As if I'd be _concerned_ for you. I sleep in this house, too, you know, and if you were to _lose it_ again, I don't want to be caught here when we all burn to the ground because you didn't know when you quit."

"You…" Hermione stood up slowly. She looked like she was shaking a little, but looking more angry and shocked than upset. "You have never treated me like a time-bomb like the rest of the Order. Where is this coming from?"

"Frankly, Granger, I didn't have a clue about it until recently," Draco said, "but if I knew before, I may have thought twice before agreeing to help with this stupid school."

"What the hell has happened?" Hermione demanded with a shout. "Where is this coming from? The other day you were so…" She sputtered, trying to make sense of it.

Laughing mockingly and hating that he had to be this way, Draco said, "What? Did you think I was softening up? Get your head out of the sand. You Gryffindors always like to see the best in people and refuse to take things for what they are, especially when they aren't pretty. Look me in the eyes." Draco leaned forward, leaning on the desk, and stared right into Hermione's pretty brown eyes. "I am not a nice person, Hermione Granger. I may work for the Light, but I resent every moment of it. I hate being in this house with all these brats and Gryffiindors. My feelings for you and your friends have not changed since Hogwarts – if anything, I just despise all of you even more."

Hermione quickly swiped away the tear that was starting down her cheek before her eyes hardened. Every trace of sadness or anger evaporated. She became indifferent and cold and that scared Draco more than her screaming and crying. All of her warmth was gone.

"You win, Malfoy," Hermione said, her voice even. "You win." She picked up the book she'd been reading and shoved it into Draco's chest. "Do what you want with it. I don't need it anymore."

Stunned that it actually worked, Draco kept his cool and took the book before leaving. Just before he stepped over the threshold, he heard Hermione say, "Oh, yes, and Draco? Never speak to me again."

Draco allowed himself to close his eyes since his back was to her. And he let his chest hurt. It was what heartbreak felt like, he was sure, because he wanted to pitch himself off the roof. He said, just loud enough for her to hear, "You don't have to ask me twice." And then he left.

…~oOo~…

~ So Long And Thanks For All The Fish ~


	19. Chapter Eighteen: In Which There Are Two

A/N. Oh, boy, none of you are happy with me, are you? But really, guys, you knew from the beginning this was going to be a trilogy – do you really think it will all be butterflies and gumdrops three quarters of the way through the first installment? Silly, silly. After all, I enjoy teasing all of you FAR too much.

A close friend of mine is a medium and is writing about her experiences as a medium on livejournal. I've been helping her write the passages *smiles* because of some of my own paranormal experiences and my love for writing. She writes under **osiris_writing** on livejournal. I hope you check it out!

Rest in Peace Cory Monteith. He played Finn in Glee. He passed away the 13th of July. He will be sorely, sorely missed. He was very talented and it's truly a shame to think he won't be singing or acting any longer.

As well as the inspirational, amazing, beautiful Talia Joy - rest easy, angel. You were proof that no matter what, you can always chase your dreams. I cried hearing about her passing because she really was a hero to many sick kids and adults. Breaks my heart.

…~oOo~…

Chapter Eighteen: In Which There Are Two Keys

The room didn't instill great comfort in Chelsea, but Adam seemed excited that Professor Malfoy had given him a mission and she didn't have the courage to put a damper on that. He was bouncing everywhere so enthusiastically that she was sure he was skipping over a lot of stuff. She just picked through everything he skimmed in his hurry and cleaned up his messy wake.

"This is great, isn't it?" Adam exclaimed, throwing open a box and rummaging through a bunch of wrinkled, colorful robes made of velvet and silk. "Soon enough, we'll find the key for the trunk and whatever that key goes too and then we can tell Malfoy and then, maybe, he'll trust me to do important tasks more often! He's a busy man, he probably needs all the help he can get, right? And I'll be like his right-hand man, always there to help."

Chelsea was nodding as he rushed over to another box and she proceeded to fold the robes that Adam had thrown carelessly on the ground. She put them carefully back into the box.

"Adam?" Chelsea said quietly.

He was still babbling but stopped abruptly when he heard her voice. "Yes, Chels?"

Chelsea blushed at the nickname, looking at her toes. She said, "Do you think… Should we spend more time with Yvette, you think?"

Wide-eyed, Adam looked at her like she'd lost her mind. "Why would we do that?"

"She doesn't have many friends."

Adam rolled his eyes. "She's fine. She's an entitled brat. Girls like her don't have friends because they don't deserve them."

Chelsea frowned at that. "Everyone deserves friends."

"Not when they're mental. And annoying. And spoiled."

Chelsea paused. "Do you think she's pretty?"

At that, Adam laughed. "Well, of course she's pretty! But what is that the Bible said? Lucifer was a handsome angel? Didn't make_ him_ any less evil." With no lack of affection, Adam patted Chelsea on the head. "You say some pretty weird things sometimes, Chelsea. I wonder just how your brain works."

_Sometimes I wonder the same_, Chelsea thought dimly. Then something over Adam's shoulder, sitting on a shelf caught her eye. It was a pretty box. She stepped around Adam and got closer to it. It looked a bit like a jewelry box with carvings of animals all over it. It had padlock on it.

A padlock that looked just big enough for a certain key…

…~oOo~…

This was what they called alcoholism, Draco thought with a frown, staring at his tumbler of scotch. He sat alone in his bedroom in his desk chair, leaning back and feeling a strong sense of déjà vu. Only it wasn't really déjà vu. It was just that it was the exact same thing he'd been doing every night for a solid week. Drinking alone in his bedroom.

He didn't want to leave because it risked running into Hermione on her way to the kitchen or library. And she didn't want to see him more than she had to and he wanted to see her far too much.

Draco was starting to hate himself. He'd had a definite dislike towards himself, definitely, but it was becoming stronger.

He hurt more than Hermione's feelings, but her spirit. Her hope. He dashed the remnants of her belief that Potter could return. But if Hermione had continued hunting, she would have come across that crazy theory with the potioneer eventually and then…

No. He made the right decision. Potter had been right, even though it killed Draco to admit it. Everything was far better off with Hermione hating him and being discouraged. She'd stop searching. She'd be safe.

And he'd be miserable. Oh, well. Life goes on.

Draco was aware he was drunk once he started humming the waltz from the Yule Ball during the Tri-Wizard Tournament. It was a happy, lighthearted tune, which was the exact opposite of how he was feeling. Closing his eyes, he remembered being there with Pansy and her bitching and moaning the entire time, and then looking onto the dancefloor and seeing Granger. Everyone had been saying how they hardly recognized her, but he was never disillusioned. He knew it was Hermione immediately. He remembered scowling, disgusted by her attempt to be pretty and dancing with Viktor Krum. At the time, this was pure hatred. But now, looking back on it, he felt jealous of Krum. He got to hold her, even if it was for a short amount of time. He never held her. Not even once.

Draco swallowed the rest of his tumbler and reached for the bottle. He heard the door open and knew right away who it was. He didn't look because he didn't want Harry Potter's appearance as Hermione to soften him up or melt his anger.

"I hate you," was all Draco said.

"You did it, then," Potter said.

"A week ago." He poured himself a glass. "Why haven't you shown up since?"

"Hermione's been…restless," Potter said, his voice gentle. "I can't seem to possess her if she's waking up every few minutes or not sleeping at all."

"Well…" Draco said, taking a sip and looking down at his desk. "Too bad for you, I suppose." And bad for Hermione. She needed her sleep.

"You're really upset about this…aren't you?" Potter said, sounding vaguely puzzled.

Draco didn't answer. Instead he pitched his glass over Harry Potter's head and into the wall. It shattered loudly and made Potter jump, his eyes wide and horrified.

"Get out," Draco said simply, without anger. His voice was quiet. He stood up. "I mean it."

With just a nod, Harry left the room. Draco dragged himself to his bed, resolving to take care of the mess in the morning, and felt onto his comforter. Closing his eyes, he tried to imagine what would have happened if Harry Potter had just stayed dead.

…~oOo~…

"_What a lovely dress, Chelsea!" _

_Chelsea raised an eyebrow. "You're the one who picked it out."_

_Yvette giggled her special, tinkling giggle. Her ash blonde curls were all piled atop her head like a beautiful gold crown. Her cheeks were rosy and she looked like a princess in her yellow sundress. _

"_Then I have very good taste, don't I?" Yvette said, folding her hands together. "Now, come along. The dinner's about to start. _

"_Won't you be cold?" Chelsea asked, looking at Yvette's thin straps and short dress. But once she stepped through the back doors she saw why Yvette's dress would be perfect. _

_A bubble of summertime enclosed their picnic rehearsal dinner. Lanterns floated above them, bouncing against the confines of the magic barriers. It was warm while outside the bubble it was snowing. The grass was green in their tiny orb of summer as soft music played from all around. There were white patio tables and chairs scattered around and two dozen people in lovely pastel dresses, hats, and gloves like they were ready to have tea with the queen. _

_Well, Yvette liked to think of herself as a queen…so it made sense._

_Chelsea saw Adam right away. She could sense him in a room, usually. He was talking to Mr. George, it seemed. Chelsea had always called him Mr. George, even once she got old enough and he asked her to just call him George. It was an old habit that she'd likely never let go of. _

_Adam seemed to sense Chelsea as well and excused himself from the conversation with George. He jogged towards his fiancée and best friend, a smile on his face. He was wearing khaki trousers and a white tailored shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. _

"_Hey, baby," Adam said, kissing Yvette's head and then wrapping Chelsea in a tight hug. _

_Yvette didn't look pleased, but it had nothing to do with the hug. "Adam!" Yvette hissed. "I told you to keep your sleeves down!"_

_Adam looked down at his exposed forearms. One was covered with tattoos and the other had a line of script from nearly his wrist to elbow. "It's hot in here, darling," Adam said, gesturing to the bubble. "Anyway, it's not like everyone doesn't know I have them."_

"_This is a nice dinner party," Yvette said sternly. "It's completely inappropriate."_

"_Chelsea's is showing!" Adam whined, pointing to his friend's ankle. _

_On Chelsea's ankle was a little silhouette of a bear. Chelsea readily said, "I can put a glamour on it –"_

_Yvette said, "Don't worry about that, Chelsea." She turned to Adam. "Chelsea is not the bride, nor is she the groom. If I had any tattoos, I'd cover them, but I respect my body."_

_With a sigh, Adam started rolling down his sleeves and Chelsea frowned. She could see Yvette stifling the essence of Adam, molding him to be how she wanted him to be. Chelsea's biggest fear wasn't losing Adam to Yvette – no, that was a lost cause. It was losing Adam completely, everything that made him Adam, fading away._

_Yvette wasn't evil, no. She just had this image of Adam that was unrealistic. She wanted to change him, like many women want to do to men. Chelsea just wanted Adam to stay the way he was. Buzzed hair, tattoos, everything. _

"_That's better," Yvette said with a big smile, taking Adam's elbow and pressing a light kiss onto his mouth. "Now, come on. I must introduce you to my cousins. Chelsea, your speech will be after dinner, alright?" _

_Adam gave Chelsea a wave, a smile on his face, and followed his fiancée into the fray. Chelsea watched on, unable to smile. She never did smile much, ever since she was young, but she did remember smiling a bit when she got to lie next to Adam at night. She had been a smitten sixteen-year-old and used to stuff her face into her pillow to hide her smile even while Adam was sleeping. She didn't want the world to know about her happiness, because her happiness was all hers and no one else's. It had been a precious, beautiful secret. _

_One of the corners of her mouth tipped into a frown as she looked over the party, trying to find someone she knew. Unfortunately, none of Adam's friends were in attendance, probably because they hadn't been invited. Mag wasn't there because Yvette found her off-putting and not acceptable company. It was a lot of Yvette's family, professors from school, and Order members. Most of the Weasleys were there. _

_Chelsea was meandering towards the champagne fountain when Mr. George appeared beside her, handing her a flute of the bubbly liquid. Chelsea wanted to smile at that. Mr. George was always popping out of nowhere. _

"_Thank you," Chelsea said. _

"_You look down, love," Mr. George said, arching an eyebrow. "Everything alright?"_

"_Perfect," Chelsea said blandly. _

"_I hear you're the maid of honor," he noted. _

_Chelsea nodded and Mr. George said, "My condolences." _

_Chelsea cracked a smirk at that and said, "And I hear you're here with another lady friend. What happened too Harper."_

"_Her name was scarily accurate," George explained. "She was always harping on me to commit and all that nonsense. But Iris, she's just looking for some fun, just like me."_

"_You're getting a little old to be just having fun, don't you think?" Chelsea said. _

"_Excuse me, but I am thirty years young," George said with mockingly indignant, "and I will have as much fun as I damn well like. And you, Miss Chelsea Baker, can do nothing to stop me!"_

"_I wouldn't dream of trying," she answered, looking around absently. "Where's Professor Granger?"_

"_She doesn't do well at big parties like these," George said, his mouth pulling to one side. "Everyone always gives her a hard time. They think she doesn't hear them talking about her, but she does. And she's a strong lady, but it still hurts her. So she's probably lying low somewhere, I imagine."_

_Chelsea frowned. Poor Professor. She was given such a hard time for one mistake she made years ago. And it hadn't been her fault – she'd been betrayed by someone she never imagined betraying her. When the Potters died in the eighties, no one blamed James for trusting Peter Pettigrew. But somehow they felt it was Professor Granger's fault for trusting someone she loved. _

"_So, what are you going to do about this wedding bullshit?" George asked curiously. _

"_What do you mean?" Chelsea asked. _

"_Well, you're going to wreck the wedding, aren't you?" George said, as if it should have been obvious. "You've got to have some kind of big plan to end all of this tomorrow! What is it, then? Fireworks? I have a portable swamp, if you're interested and –"_

_Brows furrowed, Chelsea said, "No, none of that. I'm not doing anything at all."_

_George blinked. "Why the bloody hell not?"_

_Struggling to find an answer that didn't sound silly or weak, Chelsea looked around and gestured towards the couple. They were holding hands and Adam was placing a kiss on Yvette's curls. "Look," Chelsea said. "Look at how happy they are."_

_George looked at how Yvette was curled lovingly around Adam's side, their embrace one of warmth and love. The ginger man scratched his scruffy jaw and hummed in thought. Maybe the girl was right – they did look happy. He wished he could feel that kind of happiness. _

_Looking down at Chelsea looking at Adam with a sort of detachment that he knew was false, she reminded him very strongly of another brave, morally-straight woman he knew. Some days Chelsea seemed to be the farthest from Hermione – dreadfully quiet and meek. But others she showed with the true courage and pride of a Gryffindor. _

"_How old are you, Chelsea?" George asked out of curiosity. She'd always had an old soul. _

"_Nearly eighteen," Chelsea said. "Why?"_

"_Just wondering," George said dismissively. "Are you sure you don't want to ruin the wedding? You can have whatever you like from the store if you do."_

"_No," Chelsea said, seeming very at peace right then. She shook her head gently. "They need to be together. They love each other." _And I am smart enough to realize that what Adam felt for me had never been love_. Adoration, perhaps, and plenty of lust. That didn't add up to love, though. "You can't ignore how they look at one another."_

"_Do you think you'll ever have that?" George asked. Really, he was asking himself the same question. _

_She sighed. When George looked down, he found her eyes glistening, but no tears fell. She just shook her head. _

"_Yeah," George said, frowning. "Me neither."_

…~oOo~…

"Please, please can we open it?" Adam begged of his friend.

Chelsea was feeling more tired and worn than usual that day. She shook her head. "Professor Malfoy said only to find the lock that fit the key," she said quietly. "Not open it."

"It was implied!" Adam insisted.

Shaking her head again, Chelsea played with the end of the ribbon. It was fraying at one end, she noted with a frown. Maybe she should stop fiddling with it so much. She tied it on her head, making it a headband.

They sat in the hallway by what they believed to be Professor Malfoy's bedroom. In front of them sat the jewelry box, the padlock open, but the lid closed.

"Adam…" Chelsea said quietly. "I…have a question…"

"Yeah?" Adam asked, eyebrows rose. Normally he was the one to ask questions.

She paused. "Never mind. It isn't important."

Adam shrugged and stared at the jewelry box. "Do you know where he is?"

"No."

"Maybe we should ask Professor Granger?"

"Let's not bother her."

"Oh, come on," Adam whined. "She's a teacher. She's supposed to help us, you know?"

"She's been sad lately."

"No, she hasn't," Adam said, brow furrowed.

Chelsea frowned. "Yes, she has."

"No."

"Yes," Chelsea said, firmer. She'd never been assertive before, but if Adam was going to be insensitive to how their professor was feeling, she needed to stand her ground some.

"No!" Adam said, louder.

"Yes!"

"No!"

"Yes!"

"No!"

Finally so frustrated by his shouting and the fact he didn't realize how much pain Professor Granger had been for a week, Chelsea gave Adam a healthy shove. Which, because he wasn't prepared for it, fell sideways. He kicked his leg out to steady himself and instead kicked over the jewelry box.

The box skidded and hit the wall, popping open. Out fell a dozen envelopes. Music started playing.

Adam and Chelsea both stared at the jewelry box that was not a jewelry box. It was, instead, a music box. Gently, carefully, Chelsea reached out and set it up straight. Inside the box, as the pretty unidentifiable song played, was a little ballerina dancing. It wasn't just a usual figurine like a normal, Muggle music box. This ballerina's limbs moved gracefully as she did _plie`_ after twirl after _tendu_. She danced and her pedestal spun in front of a mirror.

But this was the really crazy part. When Chelsea ducked down further to look in the little mirror, it did not reflect the ballerina. In the glass, a little bear danced in synchronization with the ballerina. Chelsea blinked and rubbed her eyes, but it did not change.

"Wow," Adam said, squeezing next to her to look at it too.

"What are you two doing?"

Chelsea and Adam both looked up to find Professor Malfoy standing over them, an arched eyebrow and a disapproving expression.

"We were waiting for you," Adam said simply.

"In front of my bedroom?" Draco clarified.

"Well…yeah."

"It's lunchtime," Draco said. "Shouldn't you be eating?"

"We were too excited to show you!" Adam said, hopping up off the floor. "We found what the key went to! Well, Chelsea did, but I helped! And we didn't want to open it before asking permission but then Chelsea pushed me and I kicked it and it exploded and all of these papers came out and it plays music. See?" Adam helped up the box to show Draco.

Draco looked at the box and then the two kids. He took the box in his hands and started poking around it with his finger, looking for secret compartments. After all, it did belong to Dumbledore. Finally, he had a stroke of genius and pushed the little oval mirror. It gave way like a mini door and inside there was a satin pouch. He pulled it out and opened the drawstring.

"Your work isn't done," Draco said, turning over the little satin pouch into Adam's palm. A key fell out. "It looks like you have a scavenger hunt on your hands. Gather the envelopes. I'll be reading them tonight."

…~oOo~…

~ So Long And Thanks For All The Fish ~


	20. Chapter Nineteen: In Which The Boys Have

A/N. And now you'll be getting some plot *smiles*. I'd love to write nothing but fluff and romance and drama, but darn plot bunnies keep getting in the way or Draco's, Hermione's, and my happiness!

Alright, this will be the last post for a week – I was really fighting to get it completed and posted for you guys tonight – because I will be on a trip for the next week, without a laptop.

…~oOo~…

Chapter Nineteen: In Which The Boys Have A Pint

Minerva McGonagall stood at the head of the table, listening intently while Fred Weasley gave reports on the state of Diagon Alley. Death Eaters were patrolling the streets at all hours, he said. George was back at the shop because it had become common for Snow's men to break into and snoop around shops and homes while they were unoccupied. If the authorities were to get inside the joke shop, they could potentially find evidence of the Weasley twins' resistance. And that could put all of the Weasleys in danger. They'd be arrested without trial and put in Azkaban.

McGonagall was an intelligent woman, so she immediately noticed the difference in her ex-pupil's mood. Hermione was normally a positive, determined, and focused young woman. But this evening, as this meeting, she was not. She seemed distracted, but still took notes, which was admirable when she was obviously upset.

As a fellow scholar and devotee to education, McGonagall knew Hermione's behavior could only be related heartbreak. She remembered the days after hearing the love of her life had married another. Well, she just barely remembered them. She listened to staff meetings half-heartedly, letting her hand scribble out the details while her mind was somewhere else. She'd drowned herself in reading material, but never absorbing any of it.

Until Albus dragged her out of her haze, she was completely alone.

Perhaps Hermione needed someone like Albus. Someone to commiserate over lost loves with.

But that would have to wait.

"Thank you, Mr. Weasley for the update," Minerva said with a nod. "Now, onto you, Mr. Malfoy. Share with us any news." Minerva looked up from her parchment and across the room to where Draco Malfoy stepped forth from his place in the corner. He wore a black turtleneck sweater and trousers, a scarf made of earth tones hanging loosely around his shoulders and what appeared to be shiny dragon-hide shoes.

"Mr. Snow has…scheduled a meeting with me," Draco said, his voice scratchier than Minerva ever remembered it being. His voice had gotten very deep over the years, but not raspy. He also looked more tired than usual. "This does not bode well. He never bothers making planned meetings with non-Ministry workers in the Circle. Normally, he simply summons those who do not directly work under him officially. I don't feel great about it," he added miserably, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

"Do you have any idea of why he wants to meet you?"

"If I did, I'd have said so by now," Draco said dryly.

Minerva pursed her lips and arched an eyebrow. "Very well. You will keep us updated."

"I always do."

"When is this meeting scheduled for?"

"Sunday evening at eight o'clock. That is all I have to report? May I go now?"

Minerva wanted to roll her eyes, but instead just cleared her throat in annoyance. "You may, Mr. Malfoy." The shorter he was there, the easier it was. Many of the Order didn't trust Draco, and if he made his report early on in the meeting and left, everyone seemed to be more comfortable. He seemed to be aware of this.

As Draco sneered and then left promptly, Minerva could not believe the resemblance between him and their former spy. Draco was becoming everything Severus Snape had been, a sad fate that Minerva wouldn't wish on her worst enemy. Seeing Draco's behavior was like seeing a replica of a young Severus Snape. Angry, cynical, bullying, and short-tempered.

The dining room of Grimmauld Place seemed to lighten once Draco was gone. Everyone seemed more willing to talk and maybe smile, just more relaxed. Except Hermione. She stayed exactly the same, only speaking when necessary and was asked for her input. She seemed grateful when Neville was willing to update everyone on their little Moony's Academy.

"The kids are all great," Neville said with a proud smile. "And safe. Nothing had crossed the boundaries of the manor without our permission. It's been a wonderful experience."

Luna Lovegood nodded in agreement, giving Neville's hand an affectionate pat. She was always a strange girl, and always would be, but she seemed to be matured beyond the girl who went to breakfast in ruffled nightdresses and rainbow socks. Albus had adored the girl, admiring her for her fashion sense and choice in socks.

Once Percy had finished his run-down of the budget, Minerva closed the meeting. Most lingered for coffee and personal catching up. Minerva watched as Hermione got up and went straight for the sitting room, where she knew young Teddy to be.

Hermione's face brightened as Teddy ran at her full-speed, his chubby legs really working. She caught him in a fast embrace. Andromeda chuckled from the couch where she read a novel of some sort.

"Miss Granger," Minerva said.

Hermione turned, holding Teddy and said, "Yes?"

"May I have a word?"

"Of course," Hermione said, setting Teddy back down with only a second of hesitation.

When Hermione followed Minerva out, the shouts of Teddy behind them were quite sad. And the efforts of Andromeda to calm him down were futile. Hermione even frowned a little.

"What is it you wish to speak about, Professor?" Hermione said, as proper as always. She had the upmost respect for all of her superiors, one of the reasons she'd become her favorite student in her Hogwarts days.

"I just wanted to see how you were feeling," Minerva said, trying her best to be delicate. "You didn't seem yourself in the meeting."

"Oh, yes, I apologize," Hermione said immediately. "I'm just tired. A good night's rest will do me a world of good."

Minerva nodded slowly. That had been almost her exact response to anyone who asked her when she went through her own heartbreak at Hermione's age. "When I was young," Minerva said, deciding she would confess something she'd told no one but Albus about, "I loved a boy. He was a Muggle. He proposed and I accepted until I realized what that meant. A marriage with him would have been…devoid of magic. Any children of mine would have to lie to their own father if I never found it suitable to tell him I was a witch… Things were different then. Rules were different. Magic society was drastically different. So I went to him and I told him that I'd changed my mind."

Hermione blinked, astonished. McGonagall was a fiercely private woman, always polite, her chin always high, and very witty. She always got across what she needed to say with a single sentence, maybe only a word, and one of her piercing looks.

This was…beyond strange. Even McGonagall, behind her proud looks, seemed uncomfortable. Her words were short and quick, as if she was rushing to get through with it, like she was resigned to talk about it, but wasn't thrilled.

"I'm…" Hermione said, struggling for a response. "I'm…not in love with a Muggle, Professor, if that's what you're…"

Minerva was shaking her head. "No, no. I didn't think you were. But I know how painful… heartbreak…can be. And, consequentially, I know the symptoms."

Frowning deeply, Hermione realized what her old professor was saying.

Was that what this was? Heartbreak?

_My Merlin_, Hermione thought, her eyes slowly widening. _She's right. I'm bloody heartbroken. Which could only mean… No, no, no! That's not possible. It simply isn't_.

_But… why does it hurt so much?_

…~oOo~…

"Burning the midnight oil?" Draco asked as Minister Snow finished locking his office at precisely eight o'clock in the evening on Sunday.

A soft chuckle could be heard from behind Snow's mask. "One could say that. I seem to bring my work with me everywhere, I'm afraid." Tucking his office keys into his pocket, the masked man straightened his cuffs and said, "Come along. We have reservations at _Le Bateleur _for eight-thirty. We'll be meeting a friend of mine there." Snow held out his arm.

Draco had never touched Mr. Snow before. It wasn't something that you did. He didn't embrace his followers like the Dark Lord did. He made no attempts to show you affection or create a sense of belonging. He was a business man, and a damn good one at that.

Slowly, Draco held Snow's forearm. Like being squeezed through a tube of toothpaste, Draco was sucked up into the universe for a split second before landing on his feet on tar before a very elegant restaurant. It wasn't in any part of Wizarding London he recognized, but then he heard the witches and wizards around them, popping out of thin air and walking towards the restaurant. They were all speaking French.

Apparently, they were in France. Wizarding Paris, Draco assumed. He hadn't been to France in a while, this must be a newer restaurant. It looked the perfect blend of Victorian and modern. As he and Snow walked through the doors and marched up to the host, Snow spoke in flawless French, requesting their reserved table.

Moments later, Draco was being walked into a more private part of the restaurant. The lights were dimmer, the tables were further apart, and the music was a tad louder.

Their table was in the back most corner and someone was already sitting there. Draco could only see their companion's back as he walked towards them, but he could tell it was a tall, lean someone. And when Draco got close enough to see his face, he barely suppressed a gasp.

Draco swallowed and sat down wordlessly as Snow ordered a bottle of cabernet sauvignon.

About to hold out his hand to their companion and formally introduce himself, Draco hesitated when he realized that the man was not responsive in anyway. His eyes hadn't shifted from looking straight forward at the wall and he hadn't said a single word, not a hello or anything. His eyes were glazed over.

Once their host walked away, Snow opened his linen napkin and spread it across his lap. "I assume you know our guest, Draco."

"Supreme Mugwump Winkler," Draco confirmed. "But…what's wrong with him?"

"He is doing what he does best," Snow said. "Doing what I command. And right now, that is to do nothing. He is simply an example, Draco. He means nothing."

Draco couldn't help to disagree. Winkler was the head of the International Confederation of Wizards. He sat highest on the totem pole.

"I know there has been some speculation about why I, as Minister, have been so… fortunate to pass the laws that I do without interference on an international level," Mr. Snow said. "And those who know of my ultimate plan to reveal magic to Muggles can't help but wonder how I will get away with it.

"The answer is quite simple. My power goes beyond just my own Ministry. I have dukes in Eastern Europe loyal to me as well as a few moles in France keeping an eye on their Minister. But my hidden ace is Winkler. He is my puppet to control at will."

"The Imperius," Draco said, a strange nausea rolling in his stomach.

"Not quite," Snow said, sounding vaguely amused. "A trick I picked up in my travels. I suppose you could call it a form of hypnosis, but even that if not fitting enough of a description. It is powerful and it will hold as long as I wish."

Their bottle of wine appeared on the table and Snow went about uncorking it and pouring their glasses.

"Do have a taste, Winkler," Snow said, sipping his wine. "It's divine."

Winkler lifted it to his lips and sipped, seeming fully alive once more, his face even lifting into an expression of approval, before he set the glass back down and went back to being a zombie. Draco tried not to shudder at the creepiness of it.

"I can make him blend in with every other witch and wizard," Snow said. "I can make him move smoothly and appear to have emotions. He is still alive, but his consciousness is mine. He's in a sort of coma."

"That is… brilliant," Draco said, although what he'd been thinking is "brilliantly horrifying".

"Thank you," Snow said graciously. "It's taken years to perfect. And even then, I can only control one person at a time. Which is why I need to ask a favor of you, Draco."

Holding very still, Draco said, "Anything you require, Minister."

"Already there has been talk in the Confederation about Winkler's decisions to not intercede at the Ministry," Snow said. "There have been rumors and the like. If the entire Confederation decides Winkler is not suitable as Supreme Mugwump, it will mean trouble. My control over Winkler cannot just be broken on a whim and transferred to someone else. It's a very delicate magic. If Winkler is terminated I will not be able to take over whoever next comes into power.

"Which is why I need to have more of the Confederation loyal to me by different means," Snow went on. "They are all morally-righteous parchment-pushers. They won't respond to incentives and bribes or promises of power. So we'll have to gain their fealty through force."

Draco could feel the conversation taking a turn. They were getting to the point. "What do you need me to do?" he inquired.

"One of Winkler's favorites has a lot of pull with the rest of the Confederation," Snow said. "She is an intelligent woman and is the 'mother' of the council. If she remains as an ally to Winkler, the rest will follow.

"Her name is Hilde Beauregard," Snow said. "She has a daughter names Margot. Abduct Margot and you will have the same control over Beauregard as I do over Snow. Maybe even more so."

Draco hadn't been prepared for that. It seemed to come from nowhere. Abduct. Kidnap. A girl.

"How old is Margot?"

"Thirteen."

"How do I take her?" Draco asked.

"That is up to you," Snow said simply. "She has heavy security at all hours, understandably so. But… I can tell you that her mother is having dinner with an important politician in the next room over. Maybe that would be a good place to start, yes?"

Heart pounding, Draco stood from his chair. "Excuse me."

Snow nodded and Draco left the table, walking through the tables and candlelight, around a wall and fish tank full of tropical and magical water creatures, scouring the room for an older woman sitting with an important-looking man.

There were a few matches. Draco had no clue what Beauregard looked like, but if he could spot her, he could put a charm on her handbag or hairpin…

Draco knew this was why Snow brought him to the restaurant. Snow was expecting him to put a Tracing charm on Beauregard in order to find out where she lived, and thus, Margot.

But then Draco saw it. One of the women sitting with another man. Her hair was tied up and she wore a woman's suit and the man across from her was large. Draco was shocked they tailored suits that big. But the reason why Draco knew this was Beauregard was because she had a wedding band, the man did not, and she wore a plain locket with a B engraved on the front.

Pretending to be on his way to the loo, Draco brushed past Beauregard and her business date. He flicked his wand inconspicuously at the chain around Beauregard's neck and left swiftly.

Now that he did what Snow wanted, he would have to report to McGonagall and find a way out of this.

…~oOo~…

It was huge news. Snow was very talkative that evening, so right after dessert Draco went straight to McGonagall at Hogwarts. She agreed that this was very important. She seemed particularly intrigued by the spell that Winkler was under. She had heard of hypnosis before, but nothing like what Snow had described.

There was no immediate answer as to what to do about Margot Beauregard. If he refused to do as Snow said, it could mean his cover being blown. He had to be completely submissive to Snow, never doubting anything he said. He had to be the perfect servant. It was imperative.

Returning to Mould-on-the-Wold was worse possibly than dinner. He knew _she _was somewhere in the manor and that did nothing to settle his nerves.

It was midnight. Everyone should be in bed. He was hoping to sneak up to his bedroom without interruption and finally get to read those letters from the music box.

Of course this wasn't meant to be.

Just when Draco was opening his bedroom door, he heard a cheerful voice say, "Hey, Malfoy."

"Longbottom," Draco acknowledged, pushing the door open and ready to ignore him.

"It's a bit late, everything alright?" Neville asked.

"Wondeful," Draco bit out.

Neville paused, putting his hands in his pocket. "You seem a little tense. More than usual, I mean. Do you…" He paused for a long time. "Do you want to get a pint?"

Draco stared at Neville for a long time. He blinked, be breathed, he stared – he did nothing else. Internally, he contemplated just going in his room and locking the door behind him. But a pint sounded like heaven. It'd been a while since he went to a pub for beer. In the circle of Death Eaters, you only drank liquor or wine in fancy crystal glasses.

Last time Draco roughed it in a pub and ordered a beer was… well, it was back in Hogwarts.

Also, he was just going to go into his bedroom and drink a half-bottle of scotch on his own anyway. Might as well drink beer with other people. It would make him seem like less of an alcoholic, at least in his own mind.

"Why not," Draco finally said, closing his bedroom door again and walking towards the stunned Neville. "Well, are we going or not?" Draco snapped when Neville didn't move.

"Y-yeah!" Neville said, too fast and too loud. "Definitely! I know a great Muggle place where we won't be recognized. I can… Apparate us to the back alley, if that's alright with you?"

"Can't get there any other way, can we?" Draco grumbled. He hated Side-Along Apparation and he'd already done it once that night.

"Well…we could always take the tube," Neville said, raising his eyebrows.

Draco arched an eyebrow at Neville. "The tube? Is that another Muggle thing?"

"Yep. It's an, well, it's a circuit of underground trains."

"How do you know this stuff?" Draco asked as they walked down the hall. "You're as pureblooded as me."

"I took Muggle Studies," Neville said with a smirk. "Paid attention in it, too."

"Why did you do that?" Draco asked, so tired that his tongue was getting loose. For Merlin's sake, he was having a civil conversation with Neville Longbottom. "Wasn't there a second Herbology course at the same time as Muggle Studies?"

"Well, yeah," Neville said, rubbing the back of his neck. "But at the time I fancied with Muggle-born girl and wanted to impress her."

"Oh, don't tell me…" Draco groaned.

Neville shrugged, his cheeks tinged pink, opening a window to his younger, bashful self. "Yeah, I know. But Hermione was always so nice to me, helping me in Potions even though I was hopeless. I thought she was great. I still think she is. My affections are just directed otherwise." He smiled.

"Ah, right," Draco said wryly. "Lovegood."

Neville nodded. "She's quirky, but I like that, I think."

"I'm sure the two of you will make terribly awkward, clumsy, scatterbrained, lunatic offspring," Draco said stiffly.

Grinning proudly, Neville said, "Yes, we will."

…~oOo~…

~ So Long And Thanks For All The Fish ~


	21. Chapter Twenty: In Which The Minister

A/N. Back from my trip! I am tanned and tired! But the bad thing about having no access to a laptop is that every time my mind went to this story, I got WAYYYY ahead of myself. I had to say to myself, "Theresa. Stop. Remember, you're only in the first book. Can't plan that until much, much later."

**JustAsSane** has coined another name for another shipping. Chorge! Chelsea and George! *smiles* I love you guys. I still haven't found a good melding of the names Adam and Yvette. Best one yet is Avette, if you come up with something, put it in the reviews!

In this chapter I, once again, demonstrate my love for Irish drinking songs. The fact that I know so many might be a problem. My excuse – my grandfather was an Irishman and enjoyed his whiskey. Drinking songs were my lullabies *smiles*.

…~oOo~…

Chapter Twenty: In Which The Minister Makes An Appearance

"Two pints –"

"Wrong, Longbottom," Draco cut him off, sliding onto the stool and looking to the bartender. "Three pints. Two for me, one for him. After that, a scotch. Just keep a tab going. Thank you."

The bartender gave a sharp nod and lumbered over to the tap and filled up two mugs. The bartender was a tall, bulky guy and Draco knew right away he wasn't one of those chatty bartenders, which he was grateful for. He couldn't handle talkative Muggles that night. Neville Longbottom was by far enough.

"You're a…big drinker, then?" Neville said, sounding confused and hopping onto the seat next to Draco.

"If you didn't already know the answer, which I'm sure you do, then it'd be none of your business," Draco said, pushing away the little basket of highly contaminated nuts on the wooden bar. He never understood why Muggles put what was essentially a bowl of germs in a public place and actually ate from it.

Neville nodded, obvious feeling awkward. Their pints were put down in front of them and the lanky Gryffindor wrapped his hands around the base of his, not saying or doing anything for a while. Draco looked over at him as he took a long sip.

"Do you not drink?" Draco asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well…not really…" Neville said, looking down at the slowly disappearing foam.

"Then what made you choose a pub of all places to go to?" Draco asked, trying not to snap at the idiot.

"I just…we've been working together for a few months now, but haven't really talked, and I figured you'd like to go for a drink."

"How did you even know about this place, then?"

"Karaoke on Tuesdays," Neville said with a sheepish smile. "Luna loves it."

Shaking his head, Draco took a long swig from his first mug. He looked around. It was a cosy little set up. Not seedy like some London pubs, with tables and matching chairs and a jukebox.

After a long moment, Draco asked, "What's karaoke?"

Neville blushed. "It's…well…you stand in front of a screen and you sing along with the words to a song."

"Sounds idiotic," Draco said with a shrug.

"It's fun," Neville said, a tad defensive. He sipped his beer slowly.

"I think it's safe to say, Longbottom, that your definition of fun widely differs from mine," Draco said.

"Yeah, we can agree on that," Neville said with a snort. "So, what do blokes at the pub talk about anyway?"

"Not that I'm a barfly, or anything, but I've heard they talk about women and drinking," Draco said. "But seeing as your woman is of no interest to me and you rarely drink at all and we will never talk about my drinking, we do not have anything to talk about, Longbottom. I'm afraid this little excursion to the pub is proving to be a failure."

"What about our students?" Neville offered readily. "We teach the same kids. How have your classes been going?"

"Miserably," Draco said without elaboration. "You?"

"Quite well, actually," Neville said, his eyes lighting up. "A lot of the younger kids have really taken to Herbology. The older ones have been pairing up and tutoring the smaller. It's great to see. If only the older kids at Hogwarts would have been willing to lend a hand, maybe I would have blown up a few less cauldrons." He smiled ruefully.

"Oh, Longbottom, I don't think anyone could have prevented your weekly Potions disasters," Draco said, smirking to himself. He did enjoy those days where Longbottom was forced to soak up every ounce of their Potion Master's wrath.

With a lopsided smile, Neville shrugged. "You're probably right. Though, Hermione helped me narrowly avoid a few."

Draco tensed unintentionally. He loosened his jaw before reaching for another quaff of beer. Why Neville so bent on talking about her of all people? He'd rather hear about Lovegood at that point.

"You alright?" Neville asked when he saw Draco's shoulders were more rigid than usual.

"Perfect," Draco answered.

"You seem a little agitated."

"Do I?" Draco said stiffly.

"Is it something to do with Hermione?"

When did Longbottom decide to be so intuitive? Why couldn't he go back to being an idiot?

"Nothing to do with Granger," Draco retorted. "Why would you possibly think that?"

"I dunno," Neville said innocently. "You seem to be nicer to her than the rest of us."

"Maybe it's because she isn't completely obtuse."

"Fair point."

"Or because if she didn't drink she wouldn't ask to go to the pub."

"Yes, that could be it too."

"Or simply because she's the only female in my life currently who isn't an angst-ridden adolescent or insane."

Nodding in understanding, Neville spun his mug around and lifted it to his mouth as he said, "Yeah. Just as I thought."

Glaring, Draco demanded, "What?"

"Nothing," Neville said, staring forward so that he didn't have to look Draco in the eyes.

"Speak, Longbottom."

"I said, it's nothing," Neville lied so blatantly that Draco didn't know whether to continue interrogating him or beat him into submission for such awful lying skills.

Draco leaned towards Neville infinitesimally, just enough to make Neville sweat – which wasn't difficult to do. "Longbottom," Draco said, perfectly calm, "you tell me what you were just thinking or I will tear you into tiny pieces and feed you in a stew to all of our students. Do you understand?"

Neville was caught between laughing off that ridiculous threat and sliding into the floorboards to never resurface. He wasn't quite ready to call Draco's bluff, not when Draco looked so cold and dark, much like a certain potions professor that still haunted Neville's dreams.

"Alright," Neville conceded. "I was just thinking… well, I was right. You care about her."

Ready to attack, Draco decided to move his hand away from his way and take a deep breath. It was too late and he was too tired to harvest Longbottom's organs for fun. His whole body slumped with exhaustion and he took a long swallow of his beer instead. The only rebuttal he could come up with without crashing face-first into the bar with the effort it would take was, "Do not." And he said it.

Neville smirked at Draco's childish response. Neville changed the subject. "Aren't you supposed to drink the hard liquor before the beer?" He had heard that somewhere, probably from the Weasley twins.

"Maybe for pansies like you," Draco murmured, no real force behind it.

Frowning, Neville said, "I may not drink often, but that doesn't mean I can't drink well."

Slowly turning to Neville, his eyes narrowed, Draco uttered the words that no Gryffindor, even Neville Longbottom, couldn't resist: "Prove it."

…

"Molly dear now did you hear, the news that's goin' round?" Neville sang, his voice heavily slurred. "Down in a corner of my heart, a love is what you've found. And every time I look into your Irish eyes so blue." Neville abruptly seized Draco's hand between his palms and sang, quite dramatically, "They seem to whisper 'Darling boy, my love is all for you'!"

"When you're sober, I am going to remind you that if this wasn't so amusing that you'd be dead by now," Draco said, snatching Neville before he stumbled and fell onto his face in the middle of the street.

Draco, while being less drunk than Neville, was still in no shape to Apparate. And Neville was far gone, the poor lightweight. Maybe drinking games were a bad idea. Maybe it'd been a bad idea to start gambling at the billiards tables. Maybe it'd been a bad idea to sing so loudly that the owner was forced to kick them out for "disturbing the peace".

Maybe going out with Neville Longbottom at all had been a bad idea.

"Did you know…" Neville said, very slowly and slurred, "tha'… Dio-dio…" He took a deep breath and tried again. "Dionaea muscipula was a magical plant tha' acshally – actually – adapted to _Muggle_ environments, no' the other way around…"

"Fascinating," Draco drawled, ready to pass out himself. "You know, for such a long and lanky guy, you're really fucking heavy."

Not answering, Neville continued singing, the words "Irish Molly" coming up every now and then along with something about green fields or some bullshit like that. Draco had managed to cast a few charms to lead them in the right direction of Diagon Alley, where he knew he'd have to sneak around the intoxicated Neville, avoid the street patrols, and find a Floo to get them back to Mould-on-the-Wold.

Shaking his head, Draco realized what a terribly idea that was upon approaching the Leaky Cauldron from the Muggle side. He couldn't cross over onto the magical side until he was sober. It was too dangerous otherwise with all the Death Eaters roaming about.

Draco used Neville as a door-opener by shoving him into the Leaky Cauldron entrance. They stumbled sloppily in and Draco dragged the now half-asleep Neville up to Tom. Draco had put his hood up and was trying to keep his head down. He couldn't afford being recognized by the few wizards lingering about the bar.

"A room, please," Draco said to Tom, "just for the night."

…

The next morning, Draco's hangover was a dull buzz in his skull and a distinct sluggishness, but from the sounds Neville was making as he was waking up, his was less pleasant. He uttered a long string of unintelligible oaths. Smirking to himself, Draco sipped his coffee at the little desk table by the window and scribbled out another sentence to the letter he was penning to his father.

"Merlin," Neville groaned, the mattress whining under him as he shifting up onto his feet unsteadily. "What happened last night?"

"You got pissed, Longbottom," Draco said. "I'd think that much was obvious, even for you."

Blinking and squinting from the light of the lamp and that peaked through the threadbare window curtains. "Is that coffee I smell?"

"Yes," Draco confirmed. "The pot is on the coffee table. Along with that insult to journalism _The_ _Prophet_. Feel free to rot your mind with its contents if you so choose." He signed the parchment at the bottom and blew on the ink gently to dry it.

Draco heard Neville's clumsy footsteps squeaking on the floorboards and then the sound of pouring coffee. A few moments later there was the loud, crisp sound of crinkling paper. Draco had almost forgotten that Neville was a Chatty Kathy until he said, "Have you seen the front page?"

"What? Has your bounty gone up again?" Draco said.

"No. They're having some kind of conference that the Ministry is hosting for the Confederation. Huh," Neville remarked, his voice hoarse. "Maybe they'll see through all of Snow's lies and put an end to some of this."

Sighing, Draco said, "I'm afraid not. Snow has a few aces up his..." His voice trailed off, his parchment slipping from his fingers. Everything put itself together in his head at once. "Longbottom?"

"Yeah?"

"The Confederation, as it… the International Confederation of Wizards?"

"Well, yeah," Neville said slowly. "Who else would I mean?"

"Does that article…specify who will be in attendance at this conference?"

"Erm…" Neville make absent clucking noises with his tongue as he read the article. "The members are Oswald, Bruhn, Perez, Beauregard, Croyne the Fifth –"

Draco punched the desk. Neville jumped almost a foot.

"He's testing me," Draco growled, not realizing he was saying it out loud.

Snow knew Draco would know that Beauregard wasn't home – knew the conference would get large coverage and that Draco would hear about it and be forced to take the opportunity. He was being forced to strike before the conference was over. And Draco knew that if he let this opportunity, specially crafted by Snow, pass by and tried coming up with an excuse, he was royally fucked.

This was a test, Draco just knew it. If he didn't take Margot Beauregard before the conference was done with, Snow would not only punish him, but would poke deeper into Draco's whereabouts and motives.

"How long is that conference supposed to be?" Draco demanded, standing up and marching towards Neville. Neville sort of cringed, but when he realized Draco was just going to snatch up the newspaper and not hex him, he relaxed only slightly.

"Um, well, three days," Neville said hesitantly. "Is…everything alright?"

"What do you think?" Draco retorted, his eyes skimming the article and trying to find anything helpful. "And they're supposed to have arrived this morning," he mumbled to himself. "Which means…" Stomping to the door, Draco threw it open and looked out into the narrow hall. He looked left and right for any kind of commotion. There were no horde of reporters banging on any Confederation member's door and this was the only inn in Diagon Alley.

And the Confederation would never set themselves up in a Muggle hotel.

If they weren't staying in the Leaky Cauldron, they weren't staying anywhere.

And Snow wouldn't want the Confederation hanging around in the public, talking to every day citizens. He was most definitely Portkey-ing them out. Beauregard would be going home each night after the conference to return in the morning.

All of this came to Draco in quick succession. It was so blindingly obvious once he thought about it. Or maybe he was wrong. He could be completely wrong.

The only way to be sure was to skulk around the Ministry. All day.

…

In the corner of his eyes, Draco saw a flash of blonde launch itself at Neville once they came through the Floo at Mould-on-the-Wold. He paid little attention to Lovegood smothering her boyfriend. He marched right past the nerd love and towards the staircase.

"Luna, are they back?" he heard a voice call out from somewhere. It was Hermione. Draco walked faster.

"Malfoy!" Hermione started calling. "Malfoy, dammit!" Her voice got closer sooner than he expected. Once he was in his room, it was only moments before she was in his doorway. "Where have you _been_?"

"I don't see how that's any of your business," Draco said, reluctant to admit outright that he'd had a stag night with Neville Longbottom.

"During wartime – yes it is my business! What – what are you doing?" Hermione demanded, seeing Draco pulling out a new set of clothing, as what he was wearing was thoroughly wrinkled and stained from some beer Neville sloshed on him.

"What does it look like?" Draco said, exasperated. "Getting dressed." He walked towards the doorway, waving her out of the way. He wanted to take a quick shower. The only problem was that she didn't move. Draco sighed. "Granger, I have things I need to do today. I beg of you, do not make this morning any more difficult than it has already proven to be."

"It is noon!" Hermione exclaimed angrily. "You haven't been seen in twenty-four hours and then suddenly Neville went missing too! How do you explain yourself?"

"We went out," Draco said stiffly. "And then we came back."

"Do you have any idea how worried we all were?"

Rolling his eyes, Draco said, "I highly doubt you were worried about me."

Hermione's eyes flashed with something besides anger, but only for a split moment. Then she was all fury again. "Maybe not – but Luna was a wreck! And you have no clue how much trouble it would have caused the Order if you went missing or turned up dead." Then, giving way to her impulses, she grunted, "Urgh!" and gave Draco a hard shove to the chest.

It barely moved him an inch.

He couldn't help it. He laughed incredulously.

"What?!" Hermione shouted, losing it.

"My nose and I know you can do better than a baby push like that," Draco scoffed. "Now move."

"Not until you explain yourself thoroughly?"

Sick of the conversation and her shouting, Draco lifted Hermione under her armpits like a child and moved her aside. He walked past her swiftly. Once she recovered from her shock of being shifted aside like she was Teddy, she quickly caught up.

"Unless you plan on joining me in the shower, you might want to find someone else to harass," Draco said, kicking the bathroom door open. He turned to look at Hermione's red face once more before saying, "I don't even know why you're yelling at me. Neville will be more than willing to deliver every little detail of our evening." He closed the door in her face.

Through the door she heard her scream, "ARGH!"

He smiled to himself.

…~oOo~…

_Smoothing her hands down her light green dress. It was strapless and knee-length, the skirt petal-like. It was obviously something Yvette had chosen. Chelsea hadn't minded, she didn't care much for clothes at all. Yvette could do all of her shopping, year-round, and Chelsea would barely notice – though, once sequins and pink got involved, she might. _

_The rehearsal dinner was in full-swing still. Chelsea was sitting at a table with Mr. George while mostly everyone else was up, dancing, or mingling. Sitting Indian-style on the fancy white chair, Chelsea picked at the appetizers, feeling unsettled. It had nothing to do with the party itself though – no, something was off. _

_But Chelsea was still paying attention. "Bubblegum that makes animal noises when it's popped?"_

"_Yes, missy," George confirmed with a smile. _

"_Why not an unpoppable bubblegum?" Chelsea asked quietly, sipping at her second glass of champagne. "Then you could just blow and blow until you have a bubble as big as you. Then you could…climb inside. I've always wondered what the inside of a gum bubble looked like."_

_George stared at the girl for a long moment. "Has anyone told you that you're a little odd?"_

_Chelsea sighed. "It wouldn't be a normal day if someone didn't."_

"_Well, it's true."_

_Chelsea nodded, downing the glass. "I know."_

"_I'd slow down on the champagne if I were you," George said, sounding a tad concerned. "I mean, I'm all for getting drunk – one might even call me an expert – but you seem to be getting talkative. And I can't lie…you saying more than one sentence at once is a little unnerving."_

_Knowing it was true, Chelsea just shrugged and started slipping off her ballet flats and tossing them under the table. She wiggled her toes, giving them room to breathe. _

"_I didn't say it was bad," George added quickly. "Just unusual. Speak as much as you like. I'm riveted. Tell me more about wanting to live inside a bubble."_

"_I think I need more champagne."_

"_I'll get it –"_

"_No, I can," Chelsea said softly. "I need to stretch my legs. And that girl over there is trying to show off hers to you."_

_George looked in the direction Chelsea was gesturing. One of Yvette's cousins – tall, slim, redhead with a very short dress – was looking over at George coyly. Chelsea never thought people actually fluttered their eyelashes, but apparently she was wrong. _

_Grinning, George said, "Good eye, Chelsea."_

"_No," Chelsea said, "I'm just not as oblivious as you." She smiled and gave him a light pat on his shoulder before wandering off towards the champagne fountain. After that, she just went walking about, towards the garden on the side of the house. It was still inside the magicked springtime all around them. _

_She was walking alongside the side of the house, leaving the party behind her, when she started hearing voices close by. They were from the opposite direction of the party. And they didn't sound like they were celebrating. It sounded like a heated argument, angry growls and hissed whispers. _

" – _insane! They'll all kill you! I'm considering it myself!" That was Hermione's voice, she'd know it anywhere._

"_Don't be insulting," a familiar voice drawled. "Can't you just be happy to see me?"_

"_I'm not." _

"_You're lying. You twist your mouth when you're lying."_

"_I am not. And you'd better leave before I make you."_

"_I just want to give Adam his wedding gift." _

"_He doesn't want to see you. And can you blame him? Anyway, you could have sent it in the post – so don't give me that nonsense. Something else has brought you here, _Minister_."_

_Chelsea's hand went straight to her mouth. The Minister. This could not be good. This was terrible. She considered running for back-up, but it seemed that Professor Granger had it under control. Walking forward and peaking around the corner to the front of the house. _

_There, among the flowers of the wrap-around garden, was a man that she remembered from her childhood but had only seen in the papers or surrounded by press since. _

_For whatever reason, Minister Draco Malfoy decided to make an appearance. _

…~oOo~…

~ So Long And Thanks For All The Fish ~


	22. Chapter Twenty-One: In Which She Finds

A/N. While I find the love between Severus has for Lily to be heartbreaking and beautiful, I can't bring myself to read any Snape/Lily fanfiction. It's a lot to do with the fact that no matter how you spin it, Lily has to end up with James (because the entire frigging series is named Harry Potter, you can't just pluck him out of existence) but also because a happy Snape is not a realistic Snape and I like my Snape crass, grumpy, rude, and cynical – thank you very much.

Also, I apologize for my poor French. I never did get a handle of that language, no matter how hard I've tried. All complaints about the French can go to Google.

…~oOo~…

Chapter Twenty-One: In Which She Finds The Key

Chelsea was worried. She was naturally anxious, but this was more than usual. Her dreams were becoming more vivid and clear. More precise. And the information being given did not sit well with Chelsea.

Were her dreams actually visions of the future? Or were they a different universe altogether? After all, she met Mr. George in both reality and her dreams – but in real life, there was no way he'd be seen anywhere without Mr. Fred, as well. Something was definitely wrong.

But she didn't trust Mr. Malfoy, not the way Adam did. That much she knew. Both sleeping and awake, Mr. Malfoy's presence sent a chill through her. She didn't like his cool, calculating eyes or his sharp tongue. She didn't feel right about him letting Adam snoop around the basement. And the trunk they were supposed to be opening gave her the heebie-jeebies.

So when she had found another key in the basement room, she hadn't told Adam. It was a pretty key, not truly rusted yet. She strung it onto her blue ribbon, the one she usually wore in her hair or around her wrist, and wore it as a necklace. The key hung over her heart all day and most nights.

Adam was outside, practicing flying with Mr. Malfoy. It was the perfect opportunity, but her stomach turned uneasily. She felt herself getting shakier as she walked down the cellar stairs and into the secret room. Everything was just as she and Adam had left it. They hadn't found what the key from the music box went to yet and she was hoping they never would.

She always felt like she was being watched in the cellar and without Adam there with her that feeling was amplified. Normally his sunny disposition and talkativeness let her ignore that stifling, creepy feeling that hung in the air like a fog.

She knelt down in front of the large, old trunk. She looked at its lock closely and blew away the cobwebs covering it. She didn't quite touch it. After taking a quick look around to make sure no one was there, ghostly or living, she slid her key out from under her shirt, lifting the ribbon over her head and weighing it in her hand. It was heavy in her palm and warm from her own body heat. It looked about the right size.

After taking a deep breath, she brought the key to the lock and slipped it in. The lock gave very little resistance. And when she turned it, the rust only stalled it for a second before giving the telltale click. It unlocked.

Swallowing, Chelsea's heart was thudding like crazy. This was bad. She could feel it. Really bad. She knew that the key she found went to the trunk – she knew it worked – but the only question remained was...

To open the trunk and satisfy that corner of her brain that was so wildly curious she could barely stand it or kowtow to her cautious side and live in blissful ignorance?

Knowing the right thing to do, Chelsea twisted the key back into place and heard the tumblers in the lock tighten once more. She removed the key, put it back around her neck, and walked away.

She didn't trust the trunk. She didn't trust their little scavenger hunt. And she didn't trust Mr. Malfoy.

…~oOo~…

For two days, Draco had been gone. He'd come home after his boys' night with Neville – Hermione still couldn't wrap her mind around that – to get dressed and then had rushed out. The only evidence that he'd come home the night after was a foggy bathroom with his toothbrush out of place. And the empty coffee cup in the sink.

It was driving Hermione insane. Not because there was no one to teach his classes – Viktor was happy to help – but because Hermione felt overwhelmingly anxious ever since his departure. And maybe a little embarrassed about how she'd shoved him like a four-year-old who wasn't getting what she wanted. Mostly, though, she was panicking over his safety. It didn't help that there was whispering about his desertion or betrayal.

It agitated Hermione that after two days everyone had assumed Draco was a traitor.

She finally snapped when she was at the Burrow to pick up some of the supplies for the school the second evening of Draco's absence. She heard Fred make some crack about him having dibs on breaking Draco's neck at the next battle.

"Oh, please!" Hermione had huffed, tossing her hands in the air. "I am sick of everyone making plans for lynching Malfoy when we should be focusing on finding him and making sure he's even still alive! He's as much a member of the Order as the rest of us and we'd do that for you. He could have been found out by Voldemort and killed instantly! He could be tortured! You should all be ashamed of yourselves." She scooped up the bags of groceries, thanked Molly, and then stomped her way to the Floo.

When she returned to Mould-on-the-Wold, she her anger melted into worry once more. She went to the kitchen, her steps slower and dropped the bags onto counter before gripping the edge of it and forcing her shoulders to relax. She had never been so anxious in her life. She took a deep breath, trying to get rid of the tension in her back.

She was glad that everyone was having tea in the dining room, because she just felt like she needed, almost desperately, to be alone. So when she heard the porch door that entered into the kitchen creak open – she thought maybe Neville was coming in from checking in on some nighttime flora – she was ready to ask him to politely go.

But when she looked up and found Draco, her breath escaped. Her first instinct was relief. Until she saw who he had with her.

A young girl. She had dark, sleek black hair, which was up in a spiky, messy knot with her wand stuck through that was slowly falling out. She was wearing denims and a black hooded jumper. More than anything, she looked severely unhappy.

"Malfoy…" Hermione said, feeling thrown. "Erm… Who is this?"

"A new houseguest," Draco said curtly, seeming annoyed.

"Where did… Is she in danger?"

"_Dites-lui la vérité, stupide_!" the girl spat, her mouth twisted angrily.

"_Faire taire_," Draco growled.

"What's going on?" Hermione asked cautiously.

Draco sighed. "This is Margot Beauregard."

"Beauregard as in… Hilde Beauregard?" Hermione said slowly. Right away, her chest clenched up. This couldn't be good. "Draco, what's going on?"

"In case you've forgotten, I don't report to you," Draco snapped. "Just… find her a bedroom while I go speak with McGonagall. I'll probably be Summoned later on, so don't expect me to be back tonight or tomorrow morning."

With that, he was gone.

Right when Hermione turned to ask the girl what was happening, she pushed past Hermione roughly, saying in a heavy French accent, "I will find a room."

A blow up, a random and abrupt Draco sighting, and the new houseguest was a moody teenager. It was just not a good day.

…~oOo~…

"I gave you explicit instructions!"

"What was I supposed to do? Snow was _testing_ me, McGonagall," Draco snarled. "If I didn't take the opportunity he was obviously giving me, my cover would have been blown. Is that what you want?" He stared into his ex-professor's eyes, his expression dark. "Maybe it is what you want. Maybe you want Snow to discover that I've been working for you."

"Don't be melodramatic," McGonagall retorted, her Scottish brogue strengthening with her anger. "I wish no such thing. But when I tell you not to kidnap a young girl, you do not kidnap a young girl!" She huffed, tugging on her robes with agitation. "You were missing for almost three days. Are you telling me that you could not spare five minutes to find me and tell me what you planned to do?"

"I am telling you that I had no choice and you would have made my job more difficult," Draco said, his voice deep and stern. "I have enough women giving me headaches in my life without seeking one out."

McGonagall removed her spectacles from her face and pinched the bridge of her nose. She was standing behind her desk while Draco stood in front of it, the large desk being the only thing that had kept the older woman from launching herself at Draco and strangling him.

"Where is she now?" McGonagall demanded once she regained control.

"At Mould-on-the-Wold," Draco said.

"What will you tell Snow?"

"He doesn't care where she is," Draco said. "As long as I give him a memory as proof of her being alive and taken and as long as that memory can be given to Hilde to use power as ransom."

Closing her eyes for a moment, McGonagall said, "We are losing this war before it's even begun."

"Snow is too powerful an enemy," Draco said. "He has the control that the Dark Lord lacked. He knows politics and manipulation in ways that the Dark Lord ignored. While the Dark Lord would rape and pillage, Snow has the skill and intelligence to destroy from the inside out and leave behind no evidence."

Nodding, McGonagall had to sit down and take a few deep breaths before asking, "Any word of You-Know-Who yet?"

Slowly, Draco shook his head. "Rumor is he is still injured, but… there is no proof. There's been talk that Snow is the Dark Lord in disguise, but as I said… Snow is more dangerous in many ways, but the Dark Lord's recklessness is what makes them, as a pair, truly horrifying."

"How would one go about assassinating Snow?"

"One would not."

"Elaborate."

"He has constant security, day and night," Draco explained, as he had for a hundred times, "and has charms on his plates for poisons and has been known to ask his guards to taste food for him in the past. His clothes are warded, his mask is warded… He is, essentially, an impenetrable fortress."

Her lips pursed, McGonagall processed this for a moment before changing the subject. "How did you take the girl?"

"Honestly?" Draco said slowly.

"Well, I hope you wouldn't lie about something so serious."

With a shrug, Draco answered, "I talked to her."

Blinking twice, McGonagall repeated, "Talked to her?"

"Yes. It took some negotiating, but in the end… she walked out with me, mostly willingly. I wish I had known it would be so easy," Draco grumbled, "because I could have had this done days ago." And maybe gotten some real sleep instead of stalking Hilde Beauregard and then staking out and breaking into her home.

"I can't believe that," McGonagall said stubbornly.

"She's a petulant, neglected teenager who likes the color black and reads nothing but adventure novels," Draco said flatly. "Trust me. It was hardly abduction. All I did, basically, was assist in her running away. Not to say she didn't give up something of a fight and demand to have a huge bed and shopping money, but that can be taken care of with a small dip into the endless Malfoy family fund," he added dryly.

McGonagall shook her head slowly, saying nothing for a long while.

"May I go now?" Draco asked wryly. "I have had a trying three days."

After only a short hesitation, McGonagall said, "You may be dismissed."

In the wake of Draco's departure, McGonagall crumbled, her head falling into her heads. How many would have to suffer before they found a way? How long would they be living in this Hell? Was it time to give up?

_No_, her Gryffindorian side broke through her melancholy violently. _Never_. _We will never give up_.

…~oOo~…

"Why are you staring at me like that?"

Draco paused, lingering hesitantly in the kitchen doorway for a moment. "Granger?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Who else would it be?" She was sitting Indian-style on a stool at the breakfast bar in the middle of the kitchen with a cup of tea.

Draco let out a sigh of relief. It wasn't Potter. Good. He couldn't handle that tonight.

"Couldn't sleep?" she said, sounding absolutely worn out.

Draco didn't answer, just rolled up the cuffs and then the sleeves of his shirt as he walked to the pantry.

"You still haven't told me why Margot is here," Hermione said, staring at her mug as the spoon stirred the tea by itself, her hand hovered lazily over it. Draco had to admit, that was a fun wandless trick. "She isn't saying anything."

"Why is it," Draco mused, "that whenever I'm around the manor, it's always you I run into?"

Hermione propped her chin up on her hand, resting her elbow on the cool, stone counter. "Karma, maybe?" she said, her voice teasing. He was shocked. She'd been so angry with him. What was with the sudden shift in attitude? "Or maybe I'm keeping tabs on you."

"You wish," Draco muttered. "No, I'm quite sure the universe is getting its revenge on me."

When Hermione dropped her hand, the spoon stopped stirring. She took a sip of the tea and sighed. "I'm not that bad," Hermione said quietly, vaguely petulant.

_No, you aren't, _Draco thought morosely. He took a box of crackers from the pantry and sauntered to the bar and stood across from Hermione. "Margot was a job from Snow."

Hermione blinked. "She's connected to them?"

"No," he said, popping a cracker in his mouth. "Snow wants control over her mother."

Hermione said nothing for a long while, obviously working it out in her head. She was a smart woman, she knew what Draco was saying. "I'm assuming McGonagall knows about this."

"You assume correctly."

"Then there's nothing to say, really."

At length Draco said, "Why are you being nice to me?"

She rubbed her eyes and said, "I don't have the energy to hate you right now, honestly."

"That's good to hear at least."

Hermione looked up at him and said mournfully, "You're infuriating. Were you aware?"

He nodded. Not sure how to answer, Draco instead offered her a cracker. The air of the entire conversation seemed like an unspoken truce, so he might as well play nice. Hermione looked sort of amused, but smiled and accepted the cracker. She dipped it in her tea before biting it in half.

"I'm sorry for shoving you," Hermione said, sounding like a regretful child, staring down at her half-eaten cracker as she did.

This was where he was supposed to apologize for something. It took a lot for him to then say, "And I apologize for lifting you to the side like a small child throwing a temper tantrum – which you were essentially doing."

"Draco Malfoy – making apologies into insults since 1980," Hermione said.

"I only speak the truth."

"I know," Hermione said, "I shouldn't have freaked out like that. I'd just been… worried."

"I returned Longbottom in once piece," Draco pointed out.

"Not just Neville," Hermione said. "I was concerned for you as well, Malfoy."

Trying to swallow without being noticed, Draco couldn't help but say, "Were you?"

Huffing in exasperation, Hermione said, "Obviously! I swear… Malfoy, we're on the same team, in case that's slipped your mind. And I look after the people on my team, it's how it's always been. I know you aren't used to it, Slytherins are taught never to rely on anyone but themselves, but this is how it is. Deal with it."

Standing up off the stool, Hermione walked around to look up at Draco and said, "I hope that if I went missing for two days you'd be concerned for me, too." Then she gave him a teasing shove to the chest. "Just don't do it again," she added snappishly. "Goodnight, Malfoy." Then she turned and left.

Rubbing his chest where she'd nudged him, Draco smiled to himself.

…~oOo~…

"What are you staring at?" Margot snapped.

"Your English is very good," Adam said suspiciously. "Are you sure you're from France?"

Margot rolled her eyes and ignored him.

"My name is French," Yvette bragged, her porridge virtually untouched. She refused to eat most days, mostly just to kick up a fuss, but always ended up eating enough in the end.

The dining room table was long, so the teachers at the other end didn't see when Margot made a very vulgar hand motion at Yvette. The blonde girl gasped, looking absolutely appalled, while Adam sniggered.

Adam wasn't the only one guilty of staring. Chelsea kept glancing up at the new girl, trying to figure out why in the world she looked so familiar. Chelsea had never set a toe in France, so they couldn't have crossed paths before.

Margot was pretty, Chelsea thought. Her sleek dark hair hung in a silky curtain over her shoulder and her eyes were shadowed by smudged mascara. Her skin had a tan tint to it and her eyes were dark blue. When she spoke, her accent was obviously French, but her words were clear and she made no grammatical mistakes. She was tall and her frame was more womanly than Chelsea's. She was wearing her pajamas to breakfast, so she didn't have a uniform yet or didn't care.

"It's true what they say about the French," Yvette said snootily.

Margot arched an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation.

"You're rude," Yvette said blatantly.

"You 'ave no idea," Margot said dryly.

And the answer hit Chelsea so fast she almost literally fell out of her seat.

In her dreams, the witch with the make-up and tongue piercing, the one that her dream-self had been called Mag…

This was her. Margot was Mag! Well, Younger Mag.

This could only mean one thing. Chelsea's dreams weren't just dreams. They were real. They were the future, or at least a version of the future.

Chelsea had to talk to Professor Granger. Soon.

…~oOo~…

~ So Long And Thanks For All The Fish ~


	23. Chapter Twenty-Two: In Which Margot

A/N. OKAY. OKAY. YOU WILL NOT BELIEVE HOW MY LAST FEW DAYS HAVE BEEN.

I have discovered the most incredible, amazing, awesome TV show OF ALL TIME. It's called "The Borgias"! Have you heard of it? It was on Showtime and went on for three epic seasons! I truly recommend it! I'm almost as obsessed with The Borgias as I am with Harry Potter (I am NOT kidding). I might have another son or daughter so I can name them Cesare or Lucrezia, haha!

A huge fan campaign is going on to get it back on air! So please, I beg of you, go to vote for it to come back at smgo . tv/shows/the-borgias/ ? funder _ id _ vote=11899# _ = _ (remove the spaces). There are 145 of you following this story – if all of you take the few moments to vote ONCE that is 145 votes that we wouldn't have had! If you don't have the Showtime channel, PM me and I will give you a link to a website that you can watch it for free at.

…~oOo~…

Chapter Twenty-Two: In Which Margot Reads

Hermione didn't know how to react. Externally, she kept her expression carefully calm and neutral. Internally, she was an absolute mess.

Chelsea's dreams were so much more than just that. Dreams did not include people you'd never met before or, even more bizarre, older versions of people you've only just met. Margot was already a complicated situation on her own. She was rude and angry and Hermione had only figured out a few mornings before the truth behind her presence at Mould-on-the-Wold. No one knew she knew, especially not Draco, but she did.

It was merely because Bill came by to drop off some money from Harry's vault and said that his wife was in an outrage over a Confederation's daughter missing. Fleur had a lot of French pride and wouldn't stop raving, acting like she was the mother of the girl herself and blaming Voldemort and Mr. Snow and all the Death Eaters.

There was no way Hermione was going to let Bill know that she actually knew where the girl was and who was truly responsible for her being missing.

And she wasn't going to confront Draco about it. Because Margot didn't seem like an abductee at all. She was angsty, sure, but only as much as every other teenager and she hadn't tried to escape once. There had to be more to the story.

And now here was a whole new problem.

Hermione knew little to nothing about the world of Seers and Divination. She thought it all to be rubbish. And the evidence to that theory was Trelawney and the fragile fabric of prophecies. Prophecies only had as much power as you gave them. Both Harry and Voldemort himself put so much weight on their prophecy that it consumed them, became an obsession.

Hermione needed to talk to someone about Divination that was more willing to be logical. So Trelawney was out of the running. So was Padma. She knew that Luna took Divination, but she wasn't sure how much the girl knew about it and was not confident in the girl's ability to be logical.

"Um… Professor?"

Hermione snapped out of her reverie and immediately felt guilty. She forgot that Chelsea was still there while she went off into the deepest corners of her mind. "Oh, Chelsea, I'm sorry," Hermione said. "I…I was just thinking. You're right, your dreams are…unusual. But do not worry. Until I figure out just what your dreams mean, I will give you a small dose of Dreamless Sleep in your evening tea. You're obviously troubled and have been restless."

Chelsea nodded, looking at Hermione with wide eyes and a small frown. Chelsea was always frowning, it seemed.

"Everything will be alright," Hermione assured her, standing up from her desk and walking around to put a hand on the girl's shoulder. "I can see you panicking."

"I'm fine," the girl said meekly, her feet focused on her toes.

"Go and get something to eat. I'll seek you out the minute I find anything, I promise."

Chelsea nodded once before shuffling out. Hermione felt bad for the girl. She was obviously nervous and had approached Hermione like she'd done something wrong.

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose and marched out of her room and went to the only other person she imagined knew anything about Divination.

…

"Me? You want to know what I know about Divination?" Neville said, stunned. "Erm… I'm more of a plant person, you know that." He spritzed some water over a plant with purple spots all over it.

The greenhouse was warm, Hermione tugged at the neck of her turtleneck jumper. There had to be a few sunshine-mimicking charms happening at once in there. "You took Divination in Third Year, didn't you?"

"Well, yeah, but I wasn't any good at it," Neville said, his brow furrowed. "Trelawney sort of freaked me out, anyway. Freaked me out when she said something was wrong with my grandmother… but then again, what isn't wrong with my grandmother." Neville shook his head.

Hermione smiled to herself. Augusta Longbottom was certainly quite the woman. She remembered seeing her step right into battle without hesitation to help her grandson. She was definitely a strict woman, very proper and… well, very English.

"Would _she_ know anything about Divination?" Hermione asked, desperate for any sort of lead. She couldn't take this to too many Order members. She didn't want the whole of them knowing quite yet, mostly for Chelsea's safety and comfort.

"'Fraid not," Neville said with a shrug. "But… didn't Malfoy get his NEWT in Divination?"

Hermione blinked. "I wouldn't know. I wasn't around most of Seventh Year."

"Right, right," Neville said, wiping the back of his gardening glove across his forehead, leaving a long dirt streak. "Well, I'm pretty sure he did. I remember hearing Pansy tease him about it, I think. Dunno." He shrugged again. "You should ask him."

Hermione's mouth pulled to the side uncertainly. "I don't know. He has a lot on his plate as of late. And we're still a little _persona non grata_, I think."

"Oh, just kiss and make up already," Neville said with a smirk as he snipped a few leaves from a nearby vine and putting them into a jar.

Hermione arched an eyebrow at him, clearly displeased. This just made Neville smirk more.

"He cares about you, you know," Neville said, obviously feigning casualty.

With a crinkled brow, Hermione said, "How would you know?"

"Haven't you heard? We're mates now," Neville said sarcastically. He snorted and said, "Trust me. I may just seem like an overly tall, awkward nerd with a green thumb, but I'm also a bloke."

"Oh, yes? Well, then, enlighten me since you know so much about 'blokes'." She put air-quotes around the word.

"I know that every time someone brings up your name in conversation, he gets really still," Neville said, "and that when you're not paying attention, his eyes are constantly darting towards you. And I also know that he speaks more to you than any of the student or Luna and I."

"You know that Draco thinks you're a numpty and that Luna's a nutcase," Hermione said, forcing herself not to seem giddy because of Neville's words. "And he hates the students."

"But he hated you more than anything during school, even I remember that," Neville pointed out. "You were the plague to him. But now… he seems to not mind you as much. I may even go as far to say that he likes you."

Hermione scoffed. "Then why has he been avoiding me?"

"Are you sure you haven't been avoiding him?"

"Are you sure you know as much as you claim about 'blokes'?"

"Are you sure you're not just in denial?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes at Neville who seemed perfectly at ease. "Tread carefully, Longbottom," she said in her perfect Draco Malfoy impression.

Neville laughed and said, "Just go find him and ask him about whatever Divination thing you want to know about. Never thought I'd see the day where Hermione Granger wanted to follow in Trelawney's footsteps."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "_Please_. It's just a bit of research for a friend." She turned to walk towards the doors, grabbing her coat and pink knit hat off their hooks.

"Let me know when you're available for Tarot readings!" Neville called after her tauntingly.

"Oh, shush, Neville!" Hermione said, but she was smiling. She waved to him before she closed the door behind her.

She walked across the grounds towards the makeshift Quidditch pitch. She knew that Adam liked to bring his lunch outside so he could get on his broom right away. And he wasn't allowed on his broom without permission. Since Viktor was gone for the week on a mission, Hermione knew the only other person available to watch would be Draco.

And there he was, standing on the ground beneath Adam who was whizzing around in a blur above his head.

"Will you slow down!" Draco snarled up to Adam in vain. Adam did no such thing, maybe stopped swerving so much, and the boy laughed loudly. "You won't be laughing when you land, you little brat!" Draco shouted. "What did I tell you about being more than twenty feet off the ground?" When Adam said nothing, Draco growled to himself.

Hermione couldn't help but smile. She tugged her coat closer around her and tugged her hat tighter over her head. It was snowing and she was happy she'd worn her mittens, sweater, grey wool coat and the cozy hat Molly had made her. She crossed her arms and walked up to Draco from behind.

Draco was wearing his black peacoat, his hands stuffed in the pockets. When she got close, she saw that he'd brushed his hair carefully that day which meant either he expected to be Summoned or was having tea with his father later. On the days that he had Death Eater or Order errands to run that didn't mean coming in contact with Snow or Lucius, he usually left ruffled and unshaven. Today he looked impeccable, entirely dressed in black, not a wrinkle anywhere.

"Now, now, no need to threaten the students," Hermione said.

Draco looked over and his scowl deepened at the sight of Hermione. "The idiot is going to kill himself. I gave him a specific set of rules –"

"I distinctly remember a flying lesson where Hooch gave a group of certain First Years very clear directions not to leave the ground and a pair of young wizards who completely disregarded her," Hermione said, one corner of her lip tipped upward. She was trying not to grin too blatantly. She stopped right at Draco side and said, "Actually, I do believe you were one of them."

"I'd been flying for years," Draco said, keeping his eyes trained up on Adam. He was watching very carefully. "Adam has only been acquainted with a broomstick for a few months and he thinks he's Galvin Gudgeon himself."

"He's young," Hermione said. "And has been introduced to this world that is so far beyond what he thought life would be. It's exhilarating."

Draco glanced down at her once. "I don't remember you jumping onto broomsticks the first chance you got."

"Oh, I'm horrified of heights," Hermione said, chuckling. "Magic wasn't about to change that. No. Broomsticks for Adam were books for me. The rich history. Finding every little thing I believed to be impossible before was not impossible at all. And, of course, the charms and such."

Draco seemed to consider this before saying, "Did you need anything?"

"What, can't I just say hello?" Hermione said, not quite pulling off the coyness she'd been aiming for.

"In my experience, most people don't."

Hermione felt a little guilty. It was true – most people only when to Draco when they needed something. "Next time, I promise, I'll just say hello."

"I doubt it," Draco said before looking down on her again, this time with a very guarded expression and even then it was a moment before he met her eyes.

And something was bizarre about that moment, just then. For whatever reason, something jolted in Hermione's stomach as she looked right into his silvery grey eyes. A fleeting thought in the back of her head said that she preferred him scruffy rather than prim and clean-cut, but it faded quickly while she watched his eyelashes catch a snowflake.

Very slowly and carefully, as you would with a stray animal, Hermione removed her mitten and reached up to Draco's face. He stiffened but didn't move. With a quick, soft touch, she rubbed her thumb just beneath his eyebrow, rubbing away the snowflake.

The only reason Hermione knew Draco sighed was the frosty little cloud that escaped from between his slightly parted lips.

At length, Hermione took her hand away, breaking the spell. Draco blinked once, twice, and his mask was back up, his face hard once more.

Embarrassed, Hermione turned forward once more and concentrated as she put her mitten on.

"So… what is it?" Draco asked, his voice lower.

"I have a question about Divination," Hermione said hesitantly.

He paused before saying, "What in the world would Hermione Granger want to know about Divination? I thought you thought it was all rubbish."

"I do," Hermione said, fidgeting with her sleeve. "But I think…I think there might be some kind of branch of Divination to do with dreams."

"Many wizards have intuitive dreams," Draco said dismissively. "It's very average."

"It's more than that."

"Didn't Potter have a history with prophetic dreams?"

"That was because of the link between he and the Dark Lord's minds," Hermione said. "He only knew what the Dark Lord knew. This is different. The person I know is dreaming things that they could knew have known otherwise."

Draco snorted. "Are we playing the pronoun game? 'The person', 'they'… Which student is it, Granger?"

With a defeated sigh, Hermione said, "Chelsea."

"The weird one."

"She isn't weird!" Hermione said, automatically defensive.

Draco gave her a blunt look.

"She isn't!" Hermione insisted. "Not any weirder than a boy I know who used enough hair gel to choke a centaur for three whole years."

He glared at her, but said nothing.

"Sorry," Hermione mumbled, crossing her arms and not at all meaning it. "Just… what do you know?"

"There are Seers whose prophecies come only through dreams," Draco said simply. "And there are Oracles who see the future in their sleep. There's a lot about sleep-prophecies in the library if you only look."

"Any specific titles you'd suggest?"

"I'll compile a list for you," Draco said. "It will be on your list tomorrow morning. Now, is that all? Because if I don't pay implicit attention to that idiot in the air, he could break his neck."

Hermione smiled and began to retreat. "Thank you, Malfoy."

"Granger," was all he said. But she knew he meant "goodbye".

…~oOo~…

"Those are for children, no?"

Chelsea looked up and jumped. She had no expected to find Margot standing over her. "Um… pardon?"

"The stories," Margot said, pointing to the book in Chelsea's hands.

"Oh… are they? Meant for children?"

"_Oui_," Margot said.

"Well… I find them… entertaining," Chelsea said self-consciously.

"Which story are you reading?" Margot asked, perching herself on the arm of the sofa-chair Chelsea sat in.

Chelsea was uncomfortable. She didn't think anyone knew about this corner of the library besides her. It was very well hidden. There was a wall that looked like the end of the library, but if you got really close to the final shelf, there was about a half-foot gap that one could squeeze through and find an opening in the wall that led to a cozy little nook with a chair.

"I just started The Tale of the Three Brothers," Chelsea said shyly.

"That is my favorite," Margot said.

"Would you…read it with me?"

"In silence? With me over your shoulder? That would be…strange, no?"

"Er… no?"

"I will read it aloud," Margot said, plucking the tome from Chelsea's hands and clearing her throat. "Let us see… Just at the beginning, you say?"

Chelsea nodded.

Clearing her throat once more, Margot began to read out loud very clearly, "'There once were three brothers who were traveling along a lonely, winding road at twilight…'"

…

"…'And then 'e greeted Death as an old friend, and went with 'im gladly, and, equals, they departed this life,'" Margot said smoothly. "_Fin_." She closed the book.

There was silence between the girls for a few moments.

"So?" Margot prompted. "What do you think?"

"It's…sad."

"_Oui_. But there are many lessons, yes?"

"Yes…"

"Which lesson did you learn?"

Chelsea was a little concerned about why Margot was being so talkative and kind. She was normally silent or rude. But Chelsea decided not to question her good fortune. And said quietly, "The older two brothers were…kind of jerks."

Margot laughed once, hard. "Does wanting to live forever make one a jerk? Pompous, perhaps, and foolish…"

"No one can cheat death," Chelsea said.

"Yes," Margot said with a nod. "True. It also makes clear that necromancy is a fool's art."

"Necromancy?" Chelsea said, tasting the word on her tongue tentatively.

"A Dark magic," Margot said. "Ask the good professors about it tomorrow. It is…difficult to explain." Finally, she hopped off the arm of the chair and said, "It is almost time for supper, I think. Come."

Chelsea rose and followed Margot with caution before finally asking, "Why are you being so… nice to me?"

Margot shrugged and they squeezed out of the hidden nook one after the other. "I like you, I think," Margot said simply. "I do not like boys – they are filthy and obnoxious – and the blonde, the Yvette, gives me a…how do you say…_headache_. The older students 'ere all know each other so well already. They look at me like I am…_creature_," she said, rolling her eyes.

"You speak English very well," Chelsea said, hoping that was a compliment.

"My entire life, my governess was an Englishwoman," Margot said. "As well as the butler. You can imagine my mother's shock when 'er daughter grew up with almost no French accent." She snorted and smirked.

Interesting, Chelsea thought. "What about your father?" she asked before she could take it back.

"Long dead," Margot said casually as if Chelsea had asked about the weather.

"I'm sorry," Chelsea said, frowning.

"Do not apologize," Margot said, waving her hand. "I was too young to remember him or mourn him. When you lose a parent so young, it 'ardly affects you."

"My mother died when I was small," Chelsea said, shuffling along beside Margot who walked with confidence. Chelsea wished she could walk like that or at the very least not slouch so much like everyone told her. "And I miss her."

Margot said, "Is your father a good man?"

"Yes," Chelsea said. It was true.

"Then why do you miss your mother?"

"I…I don't know."

"Maybe you just miss," Margot said, "what your think you are missing. Do not waste your thoughts of what might have been. Who knows? Your mother could have been a wretched woman. Merlin knows I would trade mine for a box of Droobles or a hidden school full of Muggle-borns in the Middle of Nowhere England."

…~oOo~…

A/N2. The moment in the snow between Hermione and Draco was inspired by an edited photo on deviantart by annogueras. Check it out at this link: annogueras . deviantart art/Dramione – 276417335 (remove the spaces)

~ So Long And Thanks For All The Fish ~


	24. Chapter Twenty-Three: In Which The Book

A/N. I'm so happy a few of you have started watching the show and voted for The Borgias, I really appreciate it, more than you could ever know *smiles*

We're getting down to the wire, everyone. Close to the end of Book One. At the last chapter, I will be giving the run-down of how everything will happen between the second and third installments.

I realize that things have been going slowly, but I promise interesting things soon! This is the First Book, after all, things are just getting started and set up properly!

…~oOo~…

Chapter Twenty-Three: In Which The Book If Found

"Any questions?" Hermione asked her class of three. It was her First Year class. Which meant Yvette, Adam, and Chelsea. It was easy because there were only three of them but difficult because Adam didn't pay attention, Yvette was always complaining about something, and Chelsea didn't enjoy participating.

Hermione had just gone over the first part of the goblin wars. Adam had been interested purely because of the battling aspect of it and Chelsea seemed to be taking all the notes. Yvette couldn't get past how creepy goblins looked, though Hermione was pleased to see she'd taken some notes at least.

Hermione was shocked to see Chelsea put her hand in the air, albeit very slowly.

"Yes, Chelsea?" Hermione said, trying not to sound too surprised.

"I read a story the other day," Chelsea began.

"What story?" Yvette asked right away.

"It was called the… The Tale of Three Brothers, I think," Chelsea said.

Hermione's heart stopped for a solid moment. She swallowed and said, "I know the tale well. Did you enjoy it?"

"Yes, but… what is necromancy?"

Hermione blinked, absolutely stunned. "What… what do you mean?"

"The story teaches that necromancy is a 'fool's art'…or at least, that's what I've been told. So what is… n-necromancy?" Chelsea said, her words fading quickly as she obviously second-guessed herself for every asking.

"Well," Hermione said, trying to approach the subject delicately. "It is the art of bringing back the dead. It's Dark magic."

"That's what the Stone did," Chelsea said softly.

"The Resurrection Stone, yes," Hermione confirmed. "But as illustrated in the story, it did the Second Brother no good, did it?"

Shaking her head, Chelsea was paler than she usually was.

"What happened to him?" Yvette asked, seeming intrigued.

"Unfortunately, he killed himself," Hermione said, feeling her face pinch into a slight frown as she reflected upon this. "He wished so much to see his love again but when he did she was not in the form he expected. She wasn't truly alive, only a shadow, still belonging to the Veil. It drove him mad with grief."

Even Yvette seemed affected by this, her brows wrinkling and her pink mouth pursing in a small frown.

"But it's just a story," Adam said with a shrug. "It's not like this guy actually offed himself."

"Actually," Hermione said, "every story is borne from a truth. In this case…yes, it is true. Well, there is no telling whether the brothers actually spoke with Death himself, but the objects were very real indeed."

"Wait, I'm confused," Adam said. "What exactly happens in this story?"

"Three brothers meet Death. They trick him, so he decides to trick them back. He gave them each a 'wish', you could say. The oldest brother asked for an undefeatable Wand. The second asked for the Stone to call back his loved ones from beyond the grave. And the third asked for a Cloak to hide himself from Death for as long as he pleased."

"So… these things are _real_?" Yvette said eagerly.

Hermione nodded. "They are."

"Where are they?"

"Lost," Hermione said. "The Stone was never recovered. My friend owned the Cloak. And the Wand is in the hands of a very evil man."

"Voldemort," Adam guessed.

"Remember, call him He Who Must Not Be Named or You-Know-Who," Hermione reminded him.

"Whatever," Adam said, disinterested. "Get back to the Cloak. Your friend had it?"

"He did," Hermione said. "It was his father's and his father's before him and so on, passed on from generation to generation. They were descendants of the brothers from the story."

"Wicked," Adam said, eyes shining with interest. "And where is it now? Does your friend still have it?"

"Honestly?" Hermione said, tucking her hands into her pockets. "It was lost during the Battle. Somewhere between one event and another, it was lost in the shuffle. I wish I'd paid more attention to it, but I had no idea at the time that my friend would be lost as well."

"Are there other ways?" Yvette asked, leaning forward on her desk.

"Other ways to…be invisible?"

"Well, yes, but bring back the dead and stuff," Yvette pressed on.

"Like Chelsea said, necromancy is a fool's art and very dangerous," Hermione said, a tone of warning.

"Yes, yes, but _are_ there?"

Hermione thought deeply on this. "There hasn't been any real success in necromancy. But I remember this one man, I think. I had to have been reading about him in Third Year, just side reading. I think he did something with… an elixir or something that gave him the illusion of being with his departed loved ones." She shrugged. "His work was so ridiculous, so shady and dangerous, that most of his work was burned."

"What was his name?"

"I want to say his name was Somersby," Hermione said. "I don't recall his first name, though."

"What did the elixir actually do?" Adam inquired.

"Well, it brought one to the brink of death and suspended one there for a limited amount of time," Hermione said, her head pulsing as she felt like this was important. Her mind started grabbing for details. "And he was able to communicate with passed loved ones, but each time he returned, he was weaker. They…the Ministry…they forbade him from continuing research because the risk was too great and if anyone were to mimic his work they would be putting their life at risk because…because the Veil between life and death is a thin one. So thin that walking that line is – well, should be – impossible. One ounce of imbalance and one risks…falling over…

"Oh my God," she gasped as it hit her, head on. "Of course!"

Her students all stared at her in shock as their professor was having a stroke of genius.

"Yes, yes, yes," she muttered furiously, rushing to her desk and shuffling through everything manically until she found a scarp of parchment and inked her quill so sloppily it splattered ink across everything. She paid that no mind as she scribbled hastily on the parchment.

"Um… Professor?" Adam said slowly, fearing that their only remotely normal teacher had finally lost it.

Hermione said just continued muttering for a long minute until she spoke louder, distracted, saying, "Erm, yes, uh, you're all dismissed," and then continuing her flurry of writing and shuffling.

Adam did not give her a chance to change her mind and jumped up, jogging out. Yvette, smiling broadly at the early dismissal, ran out after him. But Chelsea stayed behind, hovering at her desk. She was afraid to disrupt her teacher while she was so focused on something that seemed important, but she could not avoid it.

"Er…Professor?" Chelsea said, walking up to the desk with hesitant steps.

"Yes?" Hermione said distractedly, not paying any real attention.

"You said Somersby, yes?"

"Yes, yes, Somersby," Hermione confirmed, rifling through a file in a drawer. "I think his first name was Charles, or some other boring name like that. What about him?"

"I…I think I may know where one of his books are," Chelsea said.

This grabbed Hermione's attention. She looked up sharply. "You do?"

Chelsea nodded cautiously.

"Where?" Hermione asked. "In the library?"

To that, Chelsea shook her head.

"Where, exactly, did you find such a rare and dangerous text?" Hermione asked.

"I…" Chelsea swallowed before saying, "I could show you."

…~oOo~…

"Oh my God," was all Hermione could say. "What…what is this place, Chelsea?"

"I don't know," Chelsea answered.

The cellar room crackled with magic, that much Hermione could tell. It also weighed heavily in her stomach. Something was deeply wrong about the room.

"How did you find this, Chelsea?"

"Adam showed me."

"He's been down here too?" Hermione asked, alarmed.

Chelsea nodded.

"Do you know how he found it, then?" Hermione pressed.

After a long hesitation, Chelsea said, "Mr. Malfoy."

Hermione tried not to react too harshly. She didn't want to frighten Chelsea or have her think she did anything wrong. But she was going to strangle Malfoy, that was for sure.

"He wanted us to…find what a key went to," Chelsea said. "And we found it. But it had another key inside."

"And… the book by Somersby?" Hermione asked, swallowing.

"Over there," the young girl answered, pointing across the vast laboratory to a shelf. "It has a bunch of shapes on the front and the initial S on the binding."

"Why do you think it's Somersby's book?"

Chelsea looked very bashful as she said very quickly and quietly, "Mr. Malfoy told us not to touch the books, but it looked so out of place. Everything else is so dusty, but it didn't have any dust on it at all. So I looked in the front cover, but I put it right back, I promise."

"It's okay, Chelsea, you aren't in trouble," Hermione said soothingly, resting one hand on the girls head. Chelsea just sort of tensed and then nodded. "Okay, show me which book."

…~oOo~…

"What are those?"

"The letters from the music box. Now, mind your own business and keep polishing."

"I still don't get why I'm in trouble."

"I gave you rules about flying practice," Draco said. "And you broke them. These are the consequences."

"Polishing your boots?"

"Yes."

"Mr. Krum lets me fly higher and faster."

"Do I look like that oaf Krum to you? Keep polishing."

Adam sat on the floor of the office, scrubbing in a circular motion like Draco had told him on the three pairs of dragonhide boots. "What do the letters say?" Adam asked.

"I told you to mind your own business," Draco said. In reality, though, he felt like these letters were too personal to share with the kid. Or anyone. He himself wished he hadn't read them. There were many and each one was filled corner to corner with words of love and affection. More shocking than the poeticism was the identities of the writers.

"Who are they to and from?" Adam asked.

"You don't know when to quit, do you?" Draco said with a half-sneer. "Two dead guys."

"But they were all romantic, weren't they?"

Draco looked up from the parchment and glared at Adam. "How would you know? Have you been reading them behind my back?" he demanded.

There was a long pause before Adam said, "Who is Gellert?"

"So you have?"

Adam shrugged. "I may have peaked the other day when you ran out of the class. Yvette wanted to see, but I told her to buzz off."

"And Chelsea?"

"Well, she didn't want to look without your permission, but I told her all about them later."

Draco shook his head. This boy was something else. "I knew a boy once who didn't know when to stop snooping, stop asking questions, and stop breaking rules."

"What happened to him?"

"He died," Draco said bluntly. Adam paled. "In all fairness, he didn't die because he read a letter. Though, I also knew a girl who read a journal and was possessed and almost died."

"Alright, I get it, I'll stop breaking rules," Adam said in defeat.

With a sigh, Draco muttered, "No, you won't." _Because you're too much like Potter. _

…~oOo~…

Later that evening, Adam waited and waited in the sitting room. Chelsea was supposed to meet him there so she could explain for the fifth time why the goblins were so hacked off about one sword and why this was relevant when it happened centuries ago. But she was nowhere to be found. So he thought he'd be impressive and be pretending to read when she walked in.

Pretend reading was possibly more boring than real reading. He groaned and tipped his head against the back of the couch. According to the clock on the wall, Chelsea was twenty minutes late.

When he heard the distinct clapping noise of Mary Jane heels on wooden floors, Adam looked up from the maze of words, expecting Chelsea. Instead, though, it was Yvette.

"What are you doing?" Yvette asked, walking right up next to where Adam sat in a sofa chair.

"What does it look like?" Adam said, annoyed. "Book in my hands, open. Even you can figure it out, I'm sure."

Yvette scowled prettily. "You don't read."

"How would you bloody well know what I do and don't do?"

"Well, since no one's going to pay attention to me, I've started paying attention to other people," Yvette said snottily, her nose poked up in the air. She sat down on the edge of the coffee table in front of him primly. "You don't read," she said again. "Chelsea does, though."

"Alright, Sherlock Holmes," Adam said sarcastically. "If you know Chelsea and I so well, do you have any clue where she is?"

"Sure," Yvette said with a shrug. "She's probably wherever you two go when no one can find you."

"We could be found if anyone was smart enough to know where to look," Adam said, closing the book and crossing his arms. "What do you want, Yvette?"

"To talk, you idiot," Yvette said sharply, her tone cutting. "No one ever wants to talk to me."

"Because when you do talk it gives us all a headache."

"Maybe I'd stop giving everyone headaches if they at least pretended that you and Chelsea weren't everyone's favorites!" Yvette said, her voice getting louder.

"See! There you go, getting all shrill," Adam said, scooting off the seat. "Much more of this and I'll need a migraine potion. Now if you'll excuse me –"

"_Come on_!" Yvette moaned. "What have I ever done? Let's just… 'hang out', or something." She was pouting. "We could go flying," she offered.

"We can't," Adam said. "It's getting dark out and I'm not allowed."

"As if you ever follow the rules," Yvette pointed out. "It's still a little light out. We'll just do a few laps around the yard. Please!"

"But you don't know how to fly."

"You could teach me!" Yvette said, obviously getting excited at the prospect.

"I dunno…" he said, his mouth twisting uncertainly. Flying did sound like fun…

"Please!" Yvette urged.

"Fine," Adam grumbled. "But only for, like, ten minutes."

"Ten minutes," Yvette said with a nod. "Or maybe fifteen?"

"No. Ten."

"Alright," Yvette said begrudgingly. "Let's go. Ten minutes."

…~oOo~…

It was too perfect. Entirely too perfect. The solution to all her problems had been under her feet for months. All of the required jars and phials and pouches of ingredients were all lined up before her, sparing one or two.

Running her thumb back and forth across her lower lip, Hermione processed this. The cellar room was both blessing and curse. It contained all she needed, but all the things she needed were dangerous, rare, and volatile. Ingredients, spices, and herbs such as these should not be in the same house as children.

She was torn between killing Draco Malfoy and thanking him. Thanking him for finding the room, kill him for not telling her. But she could say nothing. If she told him that she knew, he might question what she wanted from the room, and no one could know that. Not yet. Not until she succeeded.

Chelsea had insisted on staying with her. It was obvious that the young girl didn't trust the room and Hermione knew that she was staying with her to protect her teacher in her own way. But she'd long since fallen asleep on a stepping stool in the corner, her cheek resting on her knees.

It was late. Hermione went over to the girl and tried waking her, but she seemed to be in a deep sleep. She had fought the dosage of Dreamless Sleep she'd had in her tea for as long as she could, but now she was finally resting well.

She was small, though. Bending down, Hermione took the girl up in her arms like she did with Teddy. Chelsea was very light, too light, and her head hung over Hermione's shoulder limply while one hand curled around the back of Hermione's neck.

It wasn't easy carrying an eleven-year-old upstairs, but Hermione managed it, only jostling Chelsea twice and bumping herself once. The girl remained asleep.

Hermione was halfway up the center staircase of the manor when she heard an infuriated voice say, "You need to keep your students in line!"

Hermione swung around to find Draco marching up the stairs after her, looking furious.

"Shush!" she uttered pointedly. "They're as much your students as mine," Hermione whispered. "You seem to do fine as a disciplinarian."

"They were flying out in the dark without supervision," Draco hissed.

"Who?" Hermione said, eyebrows arched high.

"Adam and Yvette," Draco growled.

"But…I didn't think they were close."

"That is entirely beside the point," Draco snapped.

"You were worried about them."

"No, I was pissed off at them," Draco said. "And I still am. Is it so hard to follow such a short set of rules? Not in the dark and not without supervision?"

"I will take care of it," Hermione said consolingly. She wanted to shove him down the stairs, but she was holding Chelsea and couldn't afford to give away that she knew anything about the cellar. "Where are they now?"

"Who knows?" Draco grumbled. "They should be in bed, but since neither of them care enough to follow any kind of instruction, they're probably breaking curfew." He paused before saying, "Where have you two been?"

"She's been helping me do some organizing in the library," Hermione bluffed. "And then we came down for tea. But she fell asleep after a cup."

"You didn't poison her, did you?" Draco asked archly.

She rolled her eyes. "Don't be preposterous. Now, if you'll excuse me, while she is light, she is getting increasingly heavier over time." She made to leave, but Draco shook his head.

"Hand her over," Draco said, plucking Chelsea out of Hermione's arms like she was a bag of flour and hoisting her on her hip.

"I had it under control –"

"Just shut up and accept the help, will you?" Draco sneered, marching up the steps past her.

She rolled her eyes, giving up, and trailed alongside him.

"You know, Draco," Hermione said, purposely distracting her mind from the puzzle of why he hadn't told her about the cellar but told two eleven-year-olds, "you are very good with children."

"You've told me this before," Draco said.

"Have I?"

"I believe you have."

"Well, will you ever have any of your own, you think?"

"No," he said simply. "It's best to let the Malfoy name die with me."

"Your father won't be thrilled with that, I'm sure."

"No, he will not," Draco said. "But hopefully he'll be dead before he realizes I have no intention to get married or plague this world with more brats."

"I agree it's for the best," Hermione said. "I don't think the world could handle any children you produce."

"You," Draco said with a smirk, "can say that again."

…~oOo~…

~ So Long And Thanks For All The Fish ~


	25. Chapter Twenty-Four: In Which She Drinks

A/N. I don't know if I've talked about this in the past, but flames are not welcome. No one has flamed this story, for which I'm very grateful *smiles*, but just as a friendly reminder. Our mothers taught us when we were little, "If you don't have anything nice to say, shut your cake hole." Or maybe that was just my mother…

Anyway. This story is purely for entertainment purposes. If it does not entertain you, feel free to click that nifty little x in the upper right hand corner of the screen and go find a different fanfiction that meets your fancy. But really, you don't need to TELL me every single reason you've stopped reading. Your silence is plenty. Have a little respect.

…~oOo~…

Chapter Twenty-Four: In Which She Drinks Coffee

It was about a week later that Draco noticed something strange as all the adults shuffled around the kitchen before the kids got up. Neville was nodding off by the toaster while he waited for his bread to be crispy, Luna was putting on the kettle, and Hermione was… drinking coffee.

This wasn't completely strange, mind you. She was known to have a cup of coffee every now and then, but it made Draco remember the last few mornings.

"Granger," Draco said, unable to hold back. "What's with the coffee?"

Hermione's hand stopped stirring her mug and she looked up in confusion. "What about it? Half cream, three sugars."

"No," Draco said. "You have tea. All this week you've been drinking coffee?"

"He has a point," Neville chimed in.

Luna was nodding.

Hermione sputtered for a moment. She finally snapped, "Putting aside completely how unnerving it is that you've all been watching me like hawks, I'll have you know my taste has changed. Is that such a problem? Do I need to catalogue my day-to-day changes with a council now? Well, then. In that case, I also plan on having both jam _and_ butter on my toast this morning, if that is agreeable with you three!" She turned away from them with an annoyed huff and went back to prepping her breakfast.

"We didn't mean it like that," Luna said, sliding over next to Hermione. The blonde girl rested her head gently on Hermione's shoulder as way of apology. "We weren't trying to be nosy. We were just curious, is all."

With a sigh, Hermione rubbed her eyes and her shoulders slunk. "I know. My sleep pattern has just been off lately, so I need a little more caffeine to keep me going during the day. It's perfectly normal."

"Why haven't you been sleeping?" Draco asked before anyone else got the chance.

She scowled at him. "What do you care?"

"Like Lovegood said," Draco said nonchalantly. "Curious."

"Well, you know what they say about curiosity," Hermione said shrewdly, taking her mug and turning to go out towards the sitting room.

"Mmm," Draco murmured, following behind her at a distance. "Seems Miss Granger isn't up to par with her repartee this morning. To use such a cliché is an insult to her intelligence."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Hermione said. "I'm not in the mood."

Draco picked up his pace so that he was just behind Hermione and then beside her. Out of nowhere, Draco seized Hermione's chin in his right hand and forced it to look up towards him. Her frustration dissipated into alarm and slight confusion. He examined his wide eyes closely.

"Your eyes are bloodshot," Draco noted dryly. "You didn't sleep at all. You were up all night reading, weren't you?"

Hermione jerked her chin away and said, "Why do you care so much, all of the sudden, about how much I read? Why does it feel like you've been speaking to me more and more often why you're supposed to hate me? Please, enlighten me!" Before she even realized it, her eyes were welling up. She made like she was rubbing her hands down her face in exasperation, but really she was swiping away the tears. She was tired and frustrated – a deadly combination because it always brought on tears.

"You're upset," Draco said matter-of-factly.

"Of course I'm upset!" Hermione said, her voice higher than she wanted it to be. "I'm always upset, haven't you noticed? Or maybe you haven't because you've been too focused on my breakfast patterns!"

Draco stared at her as she became gradually more worked up.

"I'm still not used to this!" Hermione stressed, making short, jerking hand motions. "I'm not!"

"Not used to what?" Draco asked flatly.

Hermione was shaking her head. Her face was getting flushed and her bloodshot eyes were getting redder. She looked on the verge of exploding or fainting, Draco wasn't sure which.

"I'm not used to not having them," Hermione said.

"Who?"

"My boys," Hermione rasped, her voice dropping suddenly. The anger was tapered and sadness was coming forth. "_They_ should be asking what's wrong with me – _not you_. Maybe Ron wouldn't notice, but Harry would point it out, and then Ron would get so… so concerned. He would harass me about it until I wanted to curse him. They were stupid boys, but I loved them, and they should be here with me, talking it out with me, standing with me – _not you_!"

And Draco snapped. He spat, "And what? Am I not good enough? Can I not hold a candle to Harry Fucking Golden Boy Potter or his pathetic, sickeningly-ginger sidekick Weasley? Well, too bad. Because Potter is dead and Weasley is the biggest prick to walk into your life since _me_.

"Believe it or not, you overly-emotional, stupidly sensitive, disgustingly stubborn girl," he went on, "there are two people in that kitchen – and one standing in front of you – who care about you. Who want to know all about your fucking breakfast menu. Those two idiots might have been your world Before, but this is Now. I might be a step down from your precious, perfect Gryffindors, but face it – I'm all you have.

"I'm sick and tired of arguing with you, Granger," Draco said, his voice dropping and tightening. There was something unrecognizable in his tone, and it caught Hermione off-guard. "I've got better things to do than waste my voice and energy on fighting with you when there is no winning and nothing_ to_ win. It's a headache I don't need. And for whatever reason – call it my own stupidity or pride or whatever – I keep putting myself here. In front of you. And I engage in these helpless verbal battles when I know all along that you need your last word, you need your small victories, and I give them to you. I have no fucking clue why. But not anymore. You'd rather sulk over the death of your friendships than realize that I am _right in front of you_. And not because I have to be."

Hermione looked up at Draco's grey eyes. They were dark and intense and beyond angry. But something else was there. Was it… No. No, it couldn't be. There was no way Draco Malfoy was _hurt_. Because he didn't care…

But wait. That's what he was saying, wasn't it? The question she'd been asking herself constantly – this was her answer. Draco cared. Maybe not in the way she did, but he was declaring himself as an ally. A friend. Someone to go to, to talk to, to shout at.

Hermione took a long, shaky breath and at length said, "You're not storming off." Her voice was weak as she processed his words. She couldn't remember them all, but she wished she did.

"Like a child? No, thank you," Draco said curtly, still glaring down at her.

"Very mature of you," Hermione said, slightly in awe of this development. "Nothing like the Malfoy I once knew."

"I'm working on a few behavioral flaws," Draco said lowly, his expression unchanging. "I'm glad they are to your liking."

"Are we just going to keep standing here staring at each other then?" Hermione asked, their eyes locked.

"I don't see why not," Draco answered.

"Thank you," Hermione said.

"For what?"

"For arguing with me. For yelling at me. For staring at me. Take your pick."

"You make me sound like an angry stalker."

"Isn't that kind of what you are?"

"Sadly…yes."

"I have to go now."

"I thought we were staring?" Draco said, feeling his throat going dry. He didn't want her to go yet. He just wanted to…stare. She was too beautiful. He could get addicted to moments like these, each of them coming down from a high, torn between running away and not wanting to end it just yet.

"We can…take a rain check on the staring," Hermione said, sounding uncertain.

"We could," Draco acknowledged. He swallowed. "But we won't."

"You're right. We won't. We'll walk away," Hermione said.

_Even when I don't want to_. "We will."

"In three…"

"Two…" Draco added.

"One," Hermione finished. And with only slight hesitation, she turned and walked away.

And Draco did the same.

…

Setting her coffee down at the lab table, Hermione looked at the potion. It was a dark blue color, but that would change soon. She could already see the flecks of silver rising to the surface as it bubbled. It smelt like burnt chocolate.

She had three different references in front of her. It was like a potions puzzle. Different steps, different ingredients, all from different texts. It all strung together, though. She knew what she had to do and she had enough knowledge of potions in general to be able to avoid any disasters. The room had all the necessary wards to keep children out and to keep any kind of explosion in. It was sealed tight. She gave Chelsea instructions to keep Adam preoccupied beyond the cellar for the next few weeks.

As Hermione looked into the cauldron, giving it two stirs, she thought about Draco's eyes for longer than she cared to admit. They were so pretty, but also cold. Scarily cold. She wondered briefly what could crack that sheet of glass between him and the rest of the world. He didn't just have walls up, he lived in a tower made of solid ice.

She shook away her thoughts of the Ice King.

Three more days. The brewing process took three more days. And then had to steep for two weeks. It would be ready just before Christmas.

Which was perfect. During the Christmas party, she could sneak away and hatch her plan without anyone noticing.

Everything was coming along brilliantly. Better than she could have hoped.

…~oOo~…

Headlines read all of the following:

_Beauregard Endorses Snow & Winkler. Votes Changing in the Confederacy. Who is on Who's Side or You-Know-Who's? Beauregard Reports her Daughter to be Safe; Margot Not been seen in Weeks. What is Going On? _

"Well done," Lucius Malfoy said smoothly, looking over his copies of the papers and tabloids. "I'm proud of you, son. Snow is as well. He told me to congratulate you in his stead. He is more busy than usual, likely the preparation for the Winter Ball in the Ministry. Where are you keeping the girl?"

"You can't trick me, Father," Draco said with sneer. "Snow has given me explicit instructions to tell no one. He's aware of his followers' thirst for blood and wishes the girl no harm, only to exploit her mother's love. Greyback wouldn't be able to resist knowing there's a young girl being kept somewhere and at our mercy."

Draco scowled at the thought of the barbarian Greyback. Being near him made Draco sick and the thought of him was enough to make him want to gag. His stench was unbearable and his wolfish appetite was downright revolting. He was by far his least favorite Death Eater since his Aunt Bella's death. During her reign of terror, there was no competition – she was horror personified.

"Yes, yes," Lucius said, sounding bored. "I'm aware." He tapped his index finger on the top of his desk for a few moments and looked at his son for a long time.

"What?" Draco snapped, tired of his father's scrutinizing gaze.

"Nothing," Lucius said musingly. "I haven't seen you in a while. And you haven't been answering my letters."

"Those are direct results of my ignoring you," Draco said pointedly.

"You are too stressed, Draco," Lucius said. "If you keep on with that scowl, you'll have wrinkles before you're thirty."

"Has Mother been lecturing you about moisturizing and skin care?"

Lucius paused before saying, "Even if she has, it's true. It will be harder to marry you off if you' don't keep the good looks we Malfoys are known for."

"You're boring me," Draco said.

"I'm serious."

Draco groaned. He said again, "Your marriage talk bores me. Please, stop. I beg you."

"I know that you and Astoria Greengrass have got on well in the past –"

"She is even duller than this conversation, Father," Draco said bluntly. He started standing from the chair and glanced at the papers once more on his father, the headmaster's desk. "Tell Mother that I send her my love. I have better things to do."

"Draco Lucius Malfoy, we are not done with this conversation."

"Too bad I am, then."

"We gave you a choice," Lucius said firmly. "Either you found a sensible job following your graduation or you married. You promised us that you'd find a job in the Ministry, but you have yet to do so, and have turned down every offer I've made for you to work here at Hogwarts. Time is running out on me and your mother's patience and we will start speaking with other pureblood parents. It's been years. Suitors will be chosen if you do not get off your arse and do actual work in the Ministry."

Draco scoffed. "I practically work for the Ministry already. I don't need to be on their payroll to be one of Snow's men. I will keep focusing on my place in the Dark Lord's ranks. I do my job well, wouldn't you agree?"

"You do," Lucius said grudgingly. "You have been a key part in returning the Malfoy name to its good reputation. But the point remains that –"

"I won't marry Astoria," Draco snapped. "Or Daphne. Or Pansy. Or any other pureblooded bitch. Not yet. Ask again when I'm thirty." He grabbed his coat over the back of his chair and started towards the door of the Headmaster's office.

"We will discuss this again," Lucius called out after his son.

"And I look forward to telling you to bugger off again," Draco said over his shoulder as he shut the door behind him.

…~oOo~…

"This is my tree," Chelsea noted, somewhat disgruntled.

"We're only borrowing it," Adam called down to Chelsea. "Come on up, we're watching Professors Lovegood and Longbottom snogging." He pointed at one of the second story windows.

Yvette sat on the bough next to Adam and said, "Anyway, this isn't your tree. I don't see your name on it."

Wordlessly, Chelsea pointed to the trunk.

"It does, actually," Adam said with a chuckle, pointing to the same spot on the tree trunk. In the bark, carved deep, was Chelsea and Adam's initials. It was their tree, their favorite meeting spot, where they first spoke and became friends.

"So are you two sweethearts, then?" Yvette said tauntingly.

"Best friends," Chelsea said firmly.

"Sure," Yvette said with a roll of her eyes. "I bet I know what you two do up in this tree alone when no one can find you." She made a kissy face and gross, sloppy noises that Chelsea guessed were supposed to be kissing noises. Frankly it sounding like she was a slobbering dog.

"No way," Adam said in his loud way. "Just shut up what you don't know about, Yvette."

"Don't be such a jerk, Adam!"

Chelsea couldn't help but smirk a little to herself. She had a feeling that the truce between Adam and Yvette wouldn't last long. It'd been days and the tension had been building. Their friendship would be short-lived and Adam would return to being Chelsea's best friend again instead of being Yvette's lackey.

"I would push you out of this tree if I knew how to do that Cushioning Charm," Adam mumbled.

"Excuse me!" Yvette shouted indignantly.

And Chelsea chuckled.

…~oOo~…

Two Weeks Later

"Something is very wrong."

Plucking the cufflinks from his shirt, Draco threw them carelessly onto his desk. "Everything is wrong."

Harry, currently borrowing Hermione's body, said, "No. More wrong than usual." He was shaking his head and wouldn't stop. Draco wondered if he'd shake his head right off his neck. The mental image made Draco want to smirk a little.

"I don't have the patience for your nattering tonight, Potter," Draco said, refusing to look Harry in the face. Because it was Hermione's face. And he found it hard to look her in the eyes lately, even when her body had a stowaway. "I just returned from hiding three bodies for my other boss and then had my arse groped at that god-awful Ministry ball by a very rich, very old woman. I want to get some proper sleep before I wake up tomorrow on Christmas Eve and have to deal with the Order's merriment."

"You don't get it," Harry said, getting really close to Draco. "Hermione is up to something. And when Hermione is up to something, it either means something brilliant or something very bad. And I think this is something bad considering she's been drinking Dreamless Sleep for the last week. It must be keeping her awake at night."

"Well, her eating habits have returned to normal," Draco said conversationally as he slipped out of his tailored shirt. "So she can't be too bothered. Back to drinking tea and eating all of her health food shite again. Maybe she's just paying attention to her own health for once."

Harry rubbed his lip with his thumb in thought. "Do you think she's getting ready for something?"

"Christmas, perhaps?" Draco pointed out. "She probably didn't want to go to the Order's Christmas party looking like a corpse and getting harassed for it."

"Maybe," Harry said, unconvinced. "Do you think you could ask?"

"I thought you told me to stay away from her," Draco growled, kicking his shoes to the side.

"Well, you haven't been, so just ask."

"No. She gets all annoyed when I ask her anything," Draco said stiffly, turning down his comforter. "My concern isn't worthy because it isn't yours."

Harry paused, his brow furrowing. "Really?" he said, his voice strange.

"Really," Draco said sourly, climbing into the bed and tucking his hands behind his head. He added dryly, "I mean nothing to her while you remain to be up on her pedestal."

"I miss her too," Harry said, obviously paying no attention to what Draco was saying.

"I don't care," Draco retorted. "Get out of my room. This is the last time I speak with you, Potter. Next time you borrow her body, find someone else to bother."

"Happy Christmas, Malfoy."

"Fuck off, Potter."

…~oOo~…

~ So Long And Thanks For All The Fish ~


	26. Chapter Twenty-Five: In Which They Meet

A/N. Lalalala…

Alright. Well. Ahem. This is very close to the end. I expect three more chapters. I think. I'm indecisive though, so that is subject to change.

Oh, also, I have started writing on FictionPress. I know, crazy right? But it will give you guys a sample of my original work, if you're interested! My pen name over there is my real name, Theresa Gold. The story is called "Vice Grip", a story about a group of three friends who all have their problems… It's dramatic and funny and based on a lot of true events.

You can see Hermione's Christmas dress here:

dhgate com product/a-line-v-neck-empire-waist-emerald-green/1 43488551 . html

…~oOo~…

Chapter Twenty-Five: In Which They Meet Halfway

Harry Potter was stuck halfway between the mortal world and the Veil.

He needed to be met halfway.

It was that easy. Or that complicated. And were the risks worth the chance that it wasn't simple at all? It depended on who you asked. And if you asked Hermione Granger, there was no real question. Because Harry had put his neck on the line for her a hundred times before. And she had for him. And Ron had for them. Even if they were the Golden Trio no longer, did not mean that the history wasn't there. It did not mean that their loyalties didn't still lie with one another.

These were the thoughts that Hermione Granger woke up to on Christmas Eve. She looked up at the ceiling, feeling rested and well. One of her hands was twisted up into her hair as she pushed it forcefully back from her face and considered her task. She had very specific plans for that evening and none of them had to do with the Order Christmas party.

Her body was strong, this much she was sure of. She had survived being tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange when she was only seventeen and haggard after living in tents for months. Now she had been preparing for weeks, eating right, going for evening jogs, and making sure she got plenty of sleep. She felt better than she had in ages.

Because she knew that what she was going to put her body through was risky.

The potion that Charles Somersby invented brought a person to the very edge of life, to the brink of death, and suspended one there. It was not dying, nor was one living after it was ingested. It was a point in between, a halfway mark.

Only halfway. That was all it took.

She'd meet him in the middle. Life will be at her back and Death will be at his, but as Harry was a vessel to crossover that piece of Voldemort's soul, she'd be the vessel to take him back.

Sitting up, Hermione wrapped her hair into a bun and pushed the pieces that bounced into her eyes into barrettes. She swung her legs out of bed and stepped into her slippers. It was crunch time and she had a few last minute preparations to make.

…~oOo~…

"Happy Christmas, Malfoy," Neville said, clapping Draco on the shoulder with a friendly smile.

"Bite me."

Neville laughed good-naturedly. "One day you'll come up with a better comeback."

"And it's only Christmas Eve," Draco pointed out. "Don't make me choke down the holiday greetings until the holiday is actually upon us. I'll have to suffer through enough 'Happy Christmases' tonight, anyhow." He looked pointedly around the dining room. "Where are the harpies?"

"Luna is getting on her Christmas outfit," Neville explained, his elbows propped up on the table and his mug of coffee in his hands. They were clasped tight around the cup to keep him warm. The large house was as drafty as Hogwarts and it was the middle of winter. "She's been so excited about it, been bragging about it all weeks. Apparently there's a lot of sparkles and bells involved."

"God help us," Draco muttered darkly.

Neville arched an eyebrow. "Not 'Merlin help us'?"

"No," Draco said flatly. "I'll be needed someone a sight more powerful than Merlin to survive this Christmas. I'm going straight for the top." Draco was then promptly distracted when Hermione walked in with her customary cup of tea and the Prophet.

She looked delectable, he remembered thinking. Her hair was all tied up all tight in that I-am-a-professor-and-want-to-look-it way, but still curls escaped. And she wore a knee-length dress with an A line skirt and a v-neck, showing her pale collarbone and the barest hint off cleavage. It was an emperor waist but hugged her thin belly. It was lovely. The string of tiny pearls drew attention to her slim throat and then, inevitably, her face which Draco was finding more and more attractive every day.

She wasn't wearing much make-up. Just a touch of blush, some mascara, and something that didn't look at all like lipstick or lip gloss but made her lips a berry color.

Draco didn't know whether to love or hate Christmas in that moment. But when he felt the stirring in his trousers, right there at the dining table, he settled for hate.

"Happy Christmas, Neville. Malfoy," Hermione said, walking around the table behind him. "Why are you frowning with special fervor this morning?"

"Bah, humbug," he grumbled.

The chuckle that escaped her lips wasn't tinkling and girlish like some women, but it worked for him. The corner of her lip was turned upward. "Are you a Scrooge now?"

"More like the Grinch," Neville said, laughing. "He wants to steal Christmas."

"Wrong," Draco declared. "I'd like to dispose of Christmas."

"Well, if you're asking for God's help, you may not want to say things like that," Neville said. "Just some friendly advice."

"Who died and made you pope?" Draco sneered.

"So many Muggle references this morning!" Hermione said, obviously surprised but pleased. "Have you all been doing the reading I gave you?"

"Yes, ma'am," Neville said proudly.

"I've skimmed it," Draco hedged, slouching over his breakfast miserably.

"I'm proud of you both," Hermione said, beaming. Then her brows furrowed as she looked about. "Where's Luna?"

"She'll be making her grand entrance any second, I'd reckon," Neville said. "I'd brace yourselves if I were –"

Then the doors opened along with the tune of Jingle Bingles Here Comes Kris Kringle being hummed joyfully.

Draco wished he'd had the good sense to take his breakfast to his rooms. Luna Lovegood had made her grand entrance.

The only thing he could think of to blame her outfit on was the unholy mating between one of Santa's elves and Dolores Umbridge. There was a lot of pink and, as Neville had promised, plenty of bells. She jingled as she walked over to her boyfriend and pressed a light kiss to his cheek and then sat beside him, smiling serenely.

"Do you like my socks?" she asked, lifting her foot and setting it on the table. Sure enough, her stockings were white and pink striped like candycanes.

"I'd like them more if they weren't so close to my breakfast," Draco said, pulling his plate closer towards him.

"They're great," Hermione told her with a smile was a bit forced, but she was blinking just as much as Draco, squinting against the sheer _pinkness_. "You certainly look…festive."

"Thank you, Hermione," Luna said sincerely, her voice light and airy as always. "You look really pretty. I'm starting to wonder if I should have worn something like that."

"We're all wondering similar things," Draco said dryly. He felt a spark from a wand hit his ankle under the table. From the look on Hermione's face, he knew it was her. "But you look fine as you are," he amended through clenched teeth. The smile Hermione rewarded him with made it worth it.

Luna looked contemplative. "Perhaps it would be best if I forewent the hat, then?"

"There's a hat?" Neville said, eyes wide and nervous.

"Oh, yes," Luna confirmed. "It's up in the bedroom."

"Perhaps it would be best," Neville said, one arm on the back of his girlfriend's chair. He rubbed her shoulder and smiled. "You'll already outshine every witch there – you might want to pull a few punches, if you know what I mean, love."

Luna sighed. "You're right. It's too bad. It was a nice hat. Maybe you'd like to wear it Hermione?"

She almost spewed her tea and it was Draco's turn to smirk.

"Oh, I couldn't," Hermione said quickly, recovering from her almost choking. "If the rest of your outfit is any indication, I don't think it'd match my dress, I'm afraid. Thank you, though."

Luna just shrugged and sipped her tea, unbothered.

"When will we be heading over to the Burrow?" Neville asked Hermione.

"Around four, I think," Hermione said. "Fred and George have been itching to do gingerbread houses since November and want to decorate them with all the kids before supper."

"That sounds exciting," Luna said, clapping her hands together.

"And I'm sure they want to give them all of their gifts – pranks, no doubt – before the meal starts so the whole evening can be full of exploding pies and chaos. Not to mention the mistletoe I'm sure they put everywhere even though I expressly told them that if I saw a single sprig that they'd be sorry." Hermione was shaking her head.

"Mistletoe," Luna said, shaking her head mournfully. "When will they learn?"

When Draco raised an eyebrow at Neville, he whispered in explanation, "Nargles."

For some reason, Draco knew that he didn't want to know.

…~oOo~…

The process of Side-Along Apparating two kids at once each didn't take up as much time as they thought it would and once all the kids were at the Burrow, they ran at the house in a squealing, leaping frenzy. They'd been confined to Mould-on-the-Wold for a while and this taste of freedom immediately went to their heads.

On top of that, it was Christmas and the snow was falling. Within fifteen minutes, Charlie and Bill had started up a snow ball fight with their brothers and the Academy kids. The snowballs arched through the sky, forts were quickly assembled, and laughter rang loudly across the Weasley's large property.

Hermione had been watching the kids carefully, but once she became a target, she dodged each lodged ball of ice as best as she could. She felt one hit her knit cap and spray her in the face before she ducked inside.

Hermione shook away the cold.

"You've been hit," Draco said, standing not too far away from the door, leaning against the railing of the stairs.

"I have been," she said, taking off her hat and slapping away the frost. She chuckled. "Those kids are little monsters when they've been released from their cages." She started taking off her coat and hung it on the coat-hook, shivering a little.

Draco smirked. Not only because what she said was true, but also because she was flushed from the cold, the tip of her perky nose a bright pink.

"Where's Yvette?" Hermione asked. "She wasn't playing outside."

"She's helping Mrs. Weasley bake, last I saw," he answered.

"And Adam and Chelsea?"

"Haven't the foggiest."

Hermione gave him a stern look.

"What?" he said, clueless.

"You're a teacher," Hermione said. "Can't you pretend like you care whether children are missing or not?"

Sighing, Draco walked forward, putting the glass of eggnog he had in his hand into hers. "There are no children missing. Relax. What's got you all nervous?"

"I'm not nervous," she said, maybe a tad too defensive.

"Aren't you, though?" Draco said, arching an eyebrow.

"I'm not," Hermione refuted. "And what is this?" She sniffed the eggnog suspiciously.

"Nog."

"Well, I can see that," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "I mean, what's in it?"

"Dragon Fetishist Weasley made it, so you're guess is as good as mine."

Hermione snorted, amused, but said, "He doesn't have a _dragon fetish_, so hold your tongue."

"Or you'll what?" he challenged, mischief dancing in his eyes as he leaned forward and looked into hers. "You'll cut it out? Hex me?"

Hermione found herself swallowing and thinking too intimately about Draco's tongue as hers dried up. She cleared her throat but couldn't really find an answer.

"Your tongue is as sharp as mine, Granger," Draco said lowly, enjoying this new game. "Just as guilty of offense. But why aren't you using it to lash me now?"

She blinked and did more staring, something they seemed to be good at.

"Show me you haven't lost your touch," he whispered like he was coaxing her over to the dark side with promises of gold and chocolate and lust.

Hermione found her chin tipping of its own accord.

Draco's heart skipped a beat while one of his hands inched towards those hips.

"BLOODY BUGGERING FECKING HELL!"

Hermione started so hard she almost fell over in her heels, but Draco grabbed her wrist and steadied her in time. His eyes were wide for a moment too at the yelling before he simply turned away and marched in the direction of the swearing. Feeling flushed and confused, Hermione followed close in his wake.

"What the hell?" Draco demanded when he stepped into the sitting room.

And there was Seamus Finnegan, swiping at his mouth which was covered in very bright harlot red lipstick. Standing in the doorway to the dining room looking smug under some mistletoe was Fred, his lips lined with matching red. George was rolling on the ground, literally, laughing.

"You don't kiss your mates, you arse bandit!" Seamus shouted, obviously infuriated while the lipstick refused to come off.

Fred wiped his lipstick off with ease, obviously having prepared for the encounter. "You loved it and you know it." He made kissy faces and sounds at his friend tauntingly.

"You're thick as manure and only half as useful," Seamus grumbled. "Why won't this ruddy shite come off!" He smacked at his lips furiously.

"Aw, Seamus, don't talk about your face like that," Fred said with a pout, throwing an arm around his friend's shoulders. Seamus ripped out from under the arm and pitched himself towards the loo.

Fred was laughing hysterically. George was still on the floor. Draco was ready to go back to his almost-kiss, but when he turned around Hermione had already walked away.

…

"We need to tell him!"

"We can't! I promised her I wouldn't! I wasn't even supposed to tell you!"

Adam was frowning angrily. "I told you not to tell _anyone_! Mr. Malfoy was counting on me! No wonder you've been saying you don't want to go in the cellar! I should have known!"

"It was important," Chelsea stressed to him, wondering how she got into this mess. It was Christmas, they were supposed to be having fun. But when she saw Yvette trying to trick Adam into standing under mistletoe, she knew she had to do anything to get him away. In hindsight, confessing about telling the Professor about the secret cellar was a bad idea.

But there was a reason for her bringing it up, more than jealousy. She was worried about her Professor Granger. The older woman had been brewing for weeks and suddenly stopped and it made Chelsea nervous, especially since she didn't entirely like what she thought the potion was for.

She was biting her lip hard and her hand was up by her hair, twisting the blue ribbon anxiously, the other clasping the skirt of her powder blue dress, her only nice dress that she saved for holidays and family dinners. The ribbon was tied into a little bow atop her head, but it was falling loose as she played with it.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "But I think Professor Granger could be in trouble. Even Mr. Malfoy told us not to touch the books, but she was brewing something from one of them. I'm really worried."

"You're _always_ worried," Adam said, his anger dying a little as he saw the real distress in his friend's eyes. Finally, he sighed in defeat. "What do you want to do?"

Chelsea looked left and right for anyone that could be listening. They were at the very end of the hall on the second floor of the Burrow. What she could see of was empty.

"We should tell someone," she whispered.

"That's what got us in this mess in the first place!" Adam tossed his hands in the air. "Who do you reckon we should tell anyway?"

"I don't know… Professor Longbottom?"

"He doesn't know much about potions," Adam said, "so he wouldn't know what to make of what Professor Granger was brewing."

"Neither does Professor Lovegood," Chelsea said with a frown.

"Only one real answer then," Adam said with a firm nod. "Mr. Malfoy."

"No! We can't!" Chelsea's heart was hammering.

"He knows tons about potions! He's really smart! He'll know what to make of it!"

"I don't trust him," Chelsea blurted, her voice high-pitched.

"Don't trust him?" Adam looked bewildered. "He's the most trustworthy person I know!"

Chelsea gave him a look that said, _He showed you a creepy cellar and told you to keep it a secret, not to mention all the times he's disappearing off to God Knows Where for God Knows How Long. _

"I don't care what you think of him," Adam said with confidence. "We're telling him."

"Fine," Chelsea said weakly, feeling defeated. "When?"

"The day after tomorrow," Adam said decisively. "It's Christmas, after all."

"But what if something happens before then?"

"Then we tell him sooner, obviously," he said. "Let's go get some food. You look really nervous – maybe Yorkshire pudding will help."

…~oOo~…

Dinner was incredible, no one could deny that. Draco spent years of his life eating meals made by house-elves, which was all delicious, but something about Molly Weasley's food put warmth in his belly that didn't leave. Some would argue it was the love she put into it. Draco swore there was some kind of charm.

By now, Charlie Weasley was leading everyone in a jig. The bowl of eggnog kept refilling itself and all of the kids were dancing or putting the final touches on their gingerbread houses. There was laughter all around and plenty of stolen and borrowed kisses. The mistletoe became a game, seeing who could snatch who under a doorway with the little leaves dangling from the ceiling.

Draco had got caught into a conversation with Percy Weasley over something about budget and Draco tried to participate since Percy was the only one who didn't seem dead-set on ruining his evening with merriment. But really, the man was quite boring even if he was intelligent. At least he was a distraction.

But when Percy was dragged off by one of his brothers – Draco had no clue which, they all looked the same to him – he looked around for Hermione. As he usually did. He was always looking for her in a room. It had become a hobby for him.

After a few moments of looking, he felt himself frown. Where was she? She'd been at dinner and he thought that she was dancing with Bill, but… now she was nowhere to be seen.

How odd, he thought.

He knew just who to ask about her whereabouts without being accused or verbally attacked or under suspicion.

Draco found Hermione's little shadow putting gum drops on a gingerbread man's tummy, alone in the kitchen. Separate from the other kids, as she always was. She was very focused on the task, making them perfectly aligned with exactly enough icing for glue. It was an impressively perfect gingerbread man.

He walked up to Chelsea and cleared his throat.

When Chelsea looked to see who it was, she never looked at his face, only his cream-colored jumper. "Hello, Mr. Malfoy."

"Chelsea," he said cordially. "I was curious if you knew where…Professor Granger was?"

There was a long pause. Slowly, she looked up and there was real fear on her face. "She's not here anymore, is she?"

Draco felt cold instantly. "What do you mean?"

"I thought she was in the loo, but… she's gone?"

"Chelsea," Draco said slowly. "Do you know where she is?"

The girl shook her head, worrying her lip with her teeth. "But…Adam and I were going to tell you later, but… I suppose I'll tell you now."

…~oOo~…

The attic of Grimmauld was stuffy. The glass coffin was cool under her fingertips. His face was still, perfectly preserved by the magic. Her one tear was salty on her lips. His watch, the one she'd taken from him and kept all this time, was heavy in her palm.

The potion was bitter and thick and slid down her throat like tar.

Her last thoughts were, _I really hope this works. I never said goodbye._

…~oOo~…

~ So Long And Thanks For All The Fish ~


	27. Chapter Twenty-Six: In Which The Boy

A/N. I am giddy as a schoolgirl! Everyone around me can barely stand how excited I am about this story because I feel so confident in it. I am thrilled to be tackling a series.

Again, shamelessly self-advertising, go check out my original story Vice Grip on FictionPress, my writer's name being Theresa Gold over there. If you like edgy, rebellious twenty-three-year-olds then you'll like that story.

Also, I've been getting a lot of questions in my email and PM box and I was wondering if you guys would like me to make a FAQ video to put on YouTube? Someone suggested the idea to me, so I thought I'd ask what you guys think! Lemme know!

…~oOo~…

Chapter Twenty-Six: In Which The Boy Lives

This was bad. This was terrible.

Draco didn't know what to do. First he scoured the Burrow, top to bottom, looking for Hermione and telling himself that there was no way she could have found the right book. Damn kids! He'd told them not to tell anyone – especially Hermione – and what do they do? They tell her!

How could he have told them it was to protect her? And when they asked 'protect her from what', how was he supposed to respond? From herself? From her dead best friend? From a potion that could potentially kill her? Leave her dangling in the afterlife? Destroy her brilliant, brilliant mind?

He regretted not stressing to the kids the importance of the secret. But then again, they were definitely Gryffindors and Gryffindors never kept secrets for long. He should have seen this coming. How could he have been so stupid?

Where would she take the potion? In the cellar itself?

Ignoring all of the Order around him asking what was wrong and demanding why he was so frantic, he sprinted from the Burrow to the Apparition Point. He forced himself to focus even though his heart was pounding and Apparated to Mould-on-the-Wold, praying he got there in time.

_God, _he thought, _I kind of need you right now. _

…~oOo~…

For a long time, she floated in an inky blackness. It was thick as the potion she'd drank and it felt a little like drowning. She wanted to gasp for air, but she couldn't. She just floated, paralyzed, for an indeterminable amount of time.

But then, through her eyelids, came a bright light. It was white, and warm and cold at the same time. It burned a little and when she opened her eyes, she blinked furiously as they adjusted to all of the white.

So much white. Clean, pure, white.

And she felt strange all over. A little tingly and over all unsteady. She felt there but not there, like half of her was somewhere else. She felt really…buoyant, almost. It was weird to describe. But it was sort of like when you slept on your arm funny and you wake up feeling like your arm is dead, but you know it isn't? It was that feeling all over her body.

She was jerked from her thoughts by a large shout. "Hermione!" It was loud, echoing in her ears, but also like it was being shouted through a tunnel. She sat up, forcing herself to control her body like it was a puppet.

Standing over her, bright-eyed and absolutely giddy was the exact person she'd been looking for.

"Hermione!" Harry shouted again, throwing his arms around her, but then wrenching himself away as soon as they touched. "Ow," he murmured, the voice warbled like she was hearing him under water.

He was as tall as she remembered, his black hair a riot, and his green eyes even brighter and clearer than her memories. He had no glasses but wasn't squinting to see like he usually did when he lost them.

"Harry, oh my God!" Hermione exclaimed. She reached out to touch him, but again he winced. "What's wrong?" Her voice sounding muffled even to her own ears, as if her eardrums had popped.

"You…every time I touch you, it hurts," Harry said, sounding deeply troubled. "Wait." He went still as a statue for a moment and his eyes popped open wide. "Oh, no, 'Mione! What happened? Are you…are you dead?"

"No, I'm not!" she said eagerly, manipulating her body into a standing position. "Well, I am, sort of. But only temporarily. It's kind of confusing. I just can't believe it worked!" she enthused. "And you're here! I was so worried I was too late or what something would go wrong and… I'm just so happy to see you!" She felt hot tears run down her face, but when she reached up to touch her cheek, none were there. Her cheeks were dry. Very peculiar, indeed.

"I wish I could hug you!" she said, laughing and crying at the same time.

Harry dragged her to his chest, holding her tight against him even when his whole body tensed and trembled. "I don't mind the hurt, 'Mione," Harry said, his voice wavering only a little. "It's been so long since I've felt anything at all. It feels a little bit like I'm…you know, alive.

"But what are you doing here?" he asked, holding by the shoulders and looking down at her. He looked thrilled. "_How_ are you here?"

"There was this potion created by Charles Somersby and –"

"_No_," he gasped, his eyes bulging with fear now. He was shaking his head, all of his happiness disappearing. "No, no, no – Hermione, you have to go back. Right now. That potion is dangerous!"

"How would you know anything about the potion?" she asked, brows furrowed in confusion. "It's not as if it's particularly know. Most of his works were –"

"Burned," Harry filled in quickly as he panicked. "Yes, I know. I read about him when I was borrowing your body – don't ask, it's a long story, just get back to your body already!"

"Not without you," Hermione said firmly, stamping her foot.

"What do you mean 'not without me'?"

"I'm taking you back to your body," she said with confidence.

"And how do you plan on doing that?" he asked, doubt in his voice.

She crossed her arms defensively. "I have a few theories. Anyway, what right do you have to be ungrateful? Most dead people would jump at the chance to live again and would be ecstatic if one of their best friends showed up on the Other Side with a plan to get them back."

"I'm sorry," Harry said sincerely. "But every second you're here, you're risking getting stuck here. And you need to be Over There, watching after Ron and Teddy and Malfoy."

"Ron has made it clear he doesn't need my watching, Teddy has Andromeda, and what do you know about Malfoy?"

"Like I said, it's a long story," Harry said, shaking his head. "Please go back."

"Fine, but you're coming with."

When he stubbornly crossed his arms and planted his feet Hermione said, "Listen. The long and short of it is this. You were a vessel to transport the Horcrux inside of you to here. Now I am going to be a vessel to bring you back. Your body has been preserved in Grimmauld's attic, waiting for you. No one gave up hope. You _need_ to come back."

"I'm not convinced that I can," Harry said, a frown etching wrinkles into his young face.

"Trust me," Hermione said emphatically, standing close to him. She reached out. "Take my hand, Harry. This has to work."

…~oOo~…

He was the King of Stupid! Of course she wouldn't be at Mould-on-the-Wold!

The body. Harry's body. His watch, the potion, the coffin – it all made some sense. He didn't totally understand it, but it all fit in a weird way.

He ran as hard as he could. He Floo'd to Grimmauld from the sitting room and landed on his face because he wasn't careful with his footing. He scrambled up off the carpet and flew towards the stairs, ignoring the rant about blood-traitors from his great-aunt Walburga Black. His feet pounded on the stairs like a drum, never missing a beat as he climbed the case.

He wanted to yell up to her, but he was panting too hard to get the words out. When he finally made it to the final set of steps to the attic, he busted through the door so hard it slammed into the wall when it swung and he nearly passed out when he saw what lay next to the coffin.

Hermione's body laid spread out right next to Potter's glass coffin.

"No, no, no," he uttered, his voice labored and hoarse, pitching himself down next to her body, touching her face frantically, her throat, hunting for a breath or a pulse – anything.

"Hermione," he rasped. "Hermione, wake up – please, you have to wake up." He hefted her onto his lap, one arm under shoulders and yanking her into his chest. He shook her limp body. Her brown hair had spilt out of its pins and her dress was wrinkled. Her skin was paler than ever, her skin cold to the touch. Her lips were tinged with blue.

"Please, please, please," he muttered. His throat was closing and he could feel it happening. "Come on, you stupid Gryffindor, don't leave me – not for him, not for his life. He wasn't worth it, he was never worth it. _Come back to me_."

And then he heard a thump. But it was not Hermione's heart. It was coming from behind him.

Draco stood up, leaving Hermione's body carefully on the floor.

Snow White was waking up.

Harry Potter, under the glass, was in a blind panic, his arms flailing and trying to hit the glass. He was gasping.

The preservation charms had stolen all the oxygen from inside the glass to prevent decay.

Working on pure instinct, his vision blurry, Draco whipped out his wand and snapped, "Reducto!" The spell hit the glass hard, but it was so thick that it only made a web-like crack.

Draco brought his fist down through the crack-weakened glass, shattered the entire coffin, glass raining to the ground in a glorious crash.

The gasp from Harry's lips was like he'd been held under water. His eyes were bulging and he was panting, greedily taking in air, hands fluttering over his chest and neck and face like he could not believe he was breathing. Even though he was covered in glass and some of the shards were causing him to bleed, he paid them no mind.

Only a moment later there was another gasp, a lighter, less noticeable one. Whipping around, Draco dropped next to Hermione once more while her natural pinkness rose to the surface of her cheeks and her eyes slowly fluttered open, a much less violent waking than the Boy Who Lived.

"Oh my God, thank you God," Draco was whispering to himself, one hand resting around her neck as he felt her pulse gaining strength gradually under his fingers. The other hand was on her face, feeling the breath escaping her lips and nose, helping her eyes open. "Christ…"

"Malfoy…?" she rasped.

"Yeah, it's me," he confirmed, his breathing still heavy, but the relief was shattering.

"Harry…?" she whispered.

"He's back," Draco told her through his grinding teeth. "You did it, you stupid, _stupid_ girl. You're the biggest idiot I've met, do you know that?" But his voice was laced with unmistakable joy. He gave her a small shake of the shoulder to emphasize his words, just so happy to feel the warmth return to her.

"'Mione, you did it," Harry's voice rasped in awe. Draco looked over at him. He had swung his legs over the side of the coffin bed and was working himself into a standing position, gaining back awareness of his body. "I can't believe it, but you did it. You're a genius."

"Shut up, Potter," Draco growled, mostly as a reflex.

Harry even chuckled at that.

"You're…you're happy," Hermione observed, looking up at Draco as she still laid still. "You're sneering, but I can tell. You're happy."

"Of course I'm bloody happy," Draco retorted. "What would I do if I didn't have you to annoy the hell out of me?"

She giggled. Of all things, after killing herself and then reviving herself, she bloody _giggled_.

Then…something strange happened. They heard a storm of footsteps. From below them.

They slammed all the way up the stairs and it sounded like a mob.

"Malfoy!" a voice that sounded like Longbottom's called out from below. It was barely heard among the buzz of chatter with him. But he shouted again, "Malfoy! Where are you?"

"Up here!" Draco yelled towards the open attic door. "The attic!"

Apparently half the Christmas party had followed Draco's trail when he left abruptly in a panic. They traced his Apparition and then followed the history of the Floo and they all arrived at Grimmauld as the last place he'd been. Draco learned all of this later because they obviously became too distracted when they saw who was in the attic.

There was a lot of screaming as the poured through the narrow doorway to find Harry Potter, alive and well. The screams became yelled questions and tears and sobbing. Molly Weasley squeezed Harry so hard he almost asphyxiated _again_. In all the fuss and excitement over the Christmas miracle, it seemed that they almost didn't notice Hermione struggling off the floor or Draco's hand wrapped around her elbow, helping her up. The only person who existed in that moment was Harry Potter.

Draco felt the heat of anger in his chest. Hermione should have been earning that much attention if not more. She'd been Harry Potter's personal savior at the risk of her own life. They may not have known that at the time, but at the very least they should have realized she was there. But Hermione was invisible. She didn't seem to mind. She only smiled softly while she watched on.

"You must be _starving_!" Molly exclaimed over all of the madness. "Come along, dear, we need to feed you –_ immediately_!"

There was laughter and more sobbing as the mob of Weasleys and Order members all escorted the overwhelmed Harry out of the attic at once.

Left behind in the attic was Hermione, still seemingly dazed, and Draco who had yet to leave her side in case she dropped dead once more. She seemed slightly faint, very exhausted, and maybe a tad off-balance, but over all she was okay.

"He's back," Hermione whispered in reverence, a smile on her lips. "I…can't believe it."

Before he could come up with an answer or a thought, he took her face in his hands and brought his mouth down onto hers. Hard. His lips pressed into hers as she stiffened in surprise. But in only a moment, she melted, perfectly at ease and accepting as he pressed kiss after frantic kiss to her mouth. Her cheeks burned, the blood rushing which made her a little dizzy, but one of her hands clasped his shoulder for support, holding herself up and close against him.

"_You're_ back," he whispered against her mouth, his forehead leaning against hers, his hands still cupping her face firmly. "That's all I care about."

"Malfoy…" she said breathlessly.

Slowly, with reluctance, Draco broke away from the embrace and looked down at Hermione with his customary mask of coldness, but underneath there she swore she saw adoration. Draco pushed one of her wayward curls back into place and said, "Go. Celebrate. Tell the tale of your victory and have a happy Christmas."

"Aren't you…coming with?" she said, running her tongue absently along her swollen bottom lip.

"I'm afraid not," he answered, his greys eyes darkening. "I have something I need to do."

"But…"

"You deserve to celebrate," he said again. "Not to worry."

She quirked an eyebrow at him suspiciously. "Do I have reason to worry?"

He hesitated only for a beat. "Your friends are waiting," he urged, firmer now. "I'll be back at Mould-on-the-Wold by tomorrow morning."

"Okay," she said, unconvinced. "As long as you're there tomorrow. The kids are counting on seeing you. And we have a lot to talk about…obviously."

"We do," he acknowledged with a small, sad smile. "But we probably won't."

…~oOo~…

"You're even prettier than you were in the mirror, Hermione," Harry said, wearing the same smile he had for the past eight hours while he was interrogated and hounded and quizzed to reaffirm his identity.

Hermione smirked, laughing a little. Everyone else was in bed while the Golden Trio sat around the fireplace at Grimmauld. "That's such an unusual sentence," Hermione said, amused. "But I suppose you possessed me more often than I thought, yes?"

Harry shrugged, slightly chagrinned. "It was kind of fun being you. I can't tell you how many times I caught kids sneaking out after curfew and yelled at them."

Shaking her head, she laughed some more.

"I still think it's bizarre," Ron said. He hadn't moved from his super rigid position, almost like if he moved too much he'd wake up and this all would be a dream.

"The Boy Who Lived Twice," Hermione said, smiling.

"No, not that," Ron said with a shrug. "Harry's the King of Surviving Unlikely Situations. I'm talking about the fact that he's been…well…in your body. It's really weird."

"I don't mind," she said. "I'm just happy he's back. And if it weren't for our connection or his possessing me, I would never have pursued a way to bring him back."

"But…why not me, you think?" Ron said, obviously confused. "I mean, I'm a bloke. Wouldn't it make more sense?"

"It had something to do with the watch," Hermione said. "I was drawn to it from the beginning. I'm still not completely sure, but it was the only object besides his clothing he had on him when he died. It was the missing piece."

Looking down at said watch, Harry twisted it absently, grinning. "I can't thank you enough, Hermione. For everything. You really are incredible."

"I would've helped," Ron mumbled petulantly.

Harry laughed. "Don't worry, Ron, I'm sure you'll save my life soon enough. After all, I'm sort of a magnet for trouble, aren't I?"

"Unfortunately," Ron said, smiling. He laughed quietly, but then Harry joined in. They found this amusing!

"Oh, stop it, you two!" Hermione said, wearing her best McGonagall face. "It isn't funny!"

"It kind of is," Harry said through his chortles. "And I'm not entirely sure why."

Ron was nodding and snorting too.

Rubbing her forehead, Hermione shook her head, scoffing at the silliness of the boys. Her boys. Because they were her boys and they were all back together. Harry was their glue and she wasn't going to let him be taken from them every again. It was her new mission.

"Who wants more Christmas cookies?"

"I do," Harry and Ron said in unison.

Everything was coming back together beautifully.

…~oOo~…

~ So Long And Thanks For All The Fish ~


	28. Chapter Twenty-Seven: In Which There Is

A/N. So… last chapter everyone! I know, I'm as shocked as you are!

Now. Here's how it's going to work. Book Two won't start being released until Halloween. For all of September and most of October, I will be writing it, but mostly updating Captive and The Holiday along with doing a few of the one-shots I've promised. Also writing my original story Vice Grip that you can find on FictionPress.

BUT. I'm sure most of you remember my mini freak-out about the title of THIS story. Wellll, we're going to do the same thing!

What You Need To Do: Think of a title for Book Two in the Map of Our Ruin trilogy. The ones that I like will be voted upon in a poll on my profile. A lot of you really stepped up last time! I hope I see your suggestions again!

This first book has really been a joy to write and I am very excited about Book Two. We will be seeing a little more action and (possibly) a small time jump. Along with a lot of Dramione angst, as I'm sure you know!

I hope you enjoy this last chapter of Blacklisted!

…~oOo~…

Chapter Twenty-Seven: In Which There Is No Choice

"I cannot believe I missed all that excitement," Margot said grumpily on Christmas morning. "'Arry Potter, back from the dead? _Mon dieu_!" Apparently when she was worked up she slipped into her French easier. It was making it hard for Chelsea to keep up.

"The Professor is amazing," Chelsea said in quiet awe.

"I dunno," Adam said, a candycane hanging out of his mouth. They all were sitting on the floor around the tree while the professors were making last minute breakfast adjustments or wrapping the rest of the gifts. "Kind of creepy, don't you think? Very Dr. Frankenstein."

"I think so too," Yvette said, proud to be agreeing with Adam.

"No one asked you," Margot said with a scowl at Yvette. She rolled her eyes and turned back to Chelsea. "Don't forget, Chelsea. You 'elped. The only reason Potter is alive is because of what you told the Professor."

Chelsea's eyes widened. She hadn't thought of it like that.

Around the room the older kids were in their own little groups, playing Gobstones or Exploding Snaps. A pair of older boys playing chess were in a deadlock and one girl watched on, seeming to be sweating enough for the both of them in anticipation. All of them were in their pajamas, seeing no reason to change into real clothes on such a holiday.

"Where is Mr. Malfoy, you think?" Adam asked.

"Do you fancy 'im or something?" Margot said, eyebrow arched. "It's always 'Mr. Malfoy this' or 'Mr. Malfoy that' with you."

Adam flushed but said, "Shut up, Margot, or I'll…hex you."

"Oh, I am _so_ scared," she said mockingly, sending Chelsea a secret wink. The girl's hair was piled up on her head in a huge, messy knot that bobbed forward, her wand stuck through it. Her pajamas pants were black with smiley-face skulls on them.

Chelsea thought she was pretty much the coolest girl on the planet.

"When do we open our Secret Santa gifts?" Yvette moaned loudly. "I want to now!"

"It's just a paper-folded bunny, calm down," Margot said with a huff.

"How do you know?" Yvette snapped.

"Because I have the misfortune to draw your name from the 'at," Margot answered sharply. "So quiet down while the rest of us try to enjoy our Christmas morning."

Adam smiled at Chelsea and shook his head.

"It's going to be this for the next seven years, isn't it?" Adam whispered, leaning over so she could hear him.

Chelsea's small smile fell into a frown as she remembered the dreams from before she started taking the sleeping potion nightly. "I hope so," she said. _I really, really hope so. _

…~oOo~…

"What are you looking out the window for?" Harry asked, coming up behind her as she gazed out through the snow-encrusted glass in the sitting room. The students were all exploring their new gifts – most of which were from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes – and she just kept looking out the window.

Biting her lip, Hermione considered telling him. She didn't want to start off his new life by lying to him or withholding information, but there was no telling how he'd react if she simply said it.

_I'm very possibly in love with Draco Malfoy. Yes, I know, it makes no sense. I can't make any sense of it, myself. I know you despise him, but he was also an important part of bringing you back to life. But all of that means nothing because he said he'd be here, but he's not. _

Instead she said, "He said he'd be here."

"Who?" Harry asked.

"Malfoy."

"Oh, yeah," Harry said, nodding. "He told you he'd be here for Christmas morning?"

"Well, he said so, but… he probably got busy. He works for a psychopath. I imagine that takes up a lot of time."

Harry arched an eyebrow. "Are you suspicious?"

"No!" Hermione said, defensive on Draco's behalf. "Of course not! I trust him."

"I know," Harry said with a crinkle of worry in the middle of his forehead.

"I'm just concerned," she said as she crossed her arms absently, hugging herself. "No one else would be if I weren't."

Harry didn't respond to that, only stood behind her, watching out the window for a long minute with her. He finally put a hand on her shoulder and said, "Hot chocolate?"

"I'd love a mug," Hermione said, smiling.

"With peppermint shavings?"

"Of course." Out of the blue, she gave Harry a hard hug. "I'm so happy you're back."

Putting his cheek on her head affectionately, Harry hugged her back. "So am I, Hermione. I owe you my life. How will I ever repay you?"

"Well," she said, poking him in the side playfully. "You can start with that mug of hot chocolate."

Harry's grin was infectious. "Yes, ma'am." He headed for the kitchen.

But once he was gone, Hermione was looking out the window once more. She sighed heavily and said, mostly to herself, "Where are you? I need to give you your Christmas gift."

…~oOo~…

It had been a long night of avoiding Hermione. He'd stayed at Malfoy Manor which thrilled his mother to no end. Seeing her son on Christmas was like… well, Christmas for her. He'd stayed in his childhood bedroom which was much too large for any one child and filled to the brim with Slytherin colors.

He slept fitfully, though. Just looked at the ceiling and wondered how he could have lost his head so completely in the attic. The memory of such panic when he thought Hermione was dead was enough to make him want to vomit. Closing his eyes for a moment, he tried to erase the image from his head. It replayed over and over in his nightmares when he fell asleep, but it was always that scene that woke him up. Hermione cold and still on the floor.

He wondered if Snape ever felt panic like that. Draco was trying his best to follow his godfather's example, but he couldn't imagine Snape ever losing it like that.

Draco forced himself to get up and out of bed. He would get loads of attention from his mother that morning, but he didn't mind. He was too exhausted to care. He padded out of his room in his drawstring flannel pants and bare feet and chest. His hair was likely sticking up. He raked his hands back through his hair and wondered if he should get a haircut. It was getting too shaggy to be dignified.

He found his mother drinking her tea alone in the dining room.

"Good morning and happy Christmas, love," Narcissa Malfoy said with a smile, standing up and walking over to give her son a kiss on the cheek. She wiped at the smudge of her lipstick with her thumb.

"Good morning, Mother," Draco said neutrally. "Where's Father?"

"In his study," Narcissa said. "He is doing a little business so he can have the rest of the holiday to himself."

"I need to see him," he reminded her.

"He knows," Narcissa said. "I told him. He's expecting you. I'll have your breakfast waiting for you, dear."

"Thank you, Mother." With that, he went back towards the stairs and climbed until he was on the right floor and walked along the corridor for a spell.

This was the house Draco had spent his childhood in. He grew up here. And yet, it felt cold. Colder than it used to, he thought. Maybe it wasn't the house that changed, though. Perhaps it was him.

He remembered leaving school for holiday and being eager to get back, bragging about all the Quidditch matches his father would take him to and all of the famous people he would get to meet because of his parents' connections. He'd brag to anyone who would listen – mostly Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy – about how large his house was and how many house-elves they had who would wait on him hand and foot.

None of that mattered now. His father hadn't taken him to a Quidditch match since the World Cup right before Fourth Year. The only celebrities now were endorsed by Snow or endorsing Snow, others were in hiding. Crabbe and Goyle were both dead and Pansy was on her way to becoming the resurrection of Bellatrix. And who cared about the house-elves? Many found free will in the Battle. It was an anomaly, no one knew how it happened, but somehow the lines of alliances and loyalties were so blurred that the elves found Choice. He wondered if on a stroke of daring, they all stole a sock of two. Only a few lived in the Manor now.

If his parents didn't still live there, Draco would have burnt the Manor to the ground a long time ago. It was kept standing by Dark Magic and many of the items in it were dangerous to even look at. It was the perfect symbol for the pureblood supremacy.

When he started his work for the Order, it wasn't because he'd had some revelation about Right and Wrong, or that Mudbloods were as good as purebloods. Not at all. He'd simply realized the psychosis of his master and made a vow to his godfather. His morals didn't change, just his faith in the cause.

But now it was all different. It was more than the vow. The last four months had changed all of that.

It had changed too much. He was getting sloppy. His attention was shifting. If he had any chance at keeping Hermione or the children at Mould-on-the-Wold safe, he had to be at the top of his game. He had to make only sharp, calculated moves and never waver from his path.

Draco was putting himself back on track. He had to see his father about a job.

He knocked on the door of his father's study twice, his standard warning that he was coming in, and opened it saying, "Father, I need to speak to you…" But his voice trailed off when he saw that his father had visitors.

Minister Snow was not much of a surprise. His father and Snow had meetings often. It was the final piece of their trinity that made Draco stop short and reconsider ever coming back to Malfoy Manor. And even with his hood up and covering most of his face, Draco knew his identity.

"Draco… it's been…too long." The voice was quiet, raspy, but smooth.

"My lord," Draco said, slipping into a bow. He felt himself starting to shake as he did the first time he'd been in the Dark Lord's presence. "It has been."

The Dark Lord motioned with his hand for Draco to rise. The skin of his fingers and palm looked like flaking parchment. Draco heard the distinct hiss of Nagini and looked at the Dark Lord's feet to find her curled safely around her master's legs, eyeing Draco with suspicion. He always felt that snake had far more emotion than any reptile had the right to.

"Now, now, Nagini," Voldemort uttered with quiet affection. "We know Draco. He's like a son to us."

Draco suppressed a shudder. This was not how he planned on his Christmas going. First the return of Perfect Potter and now the root of his nightmares.

"What did you need, Draco?" Lucius inquired, seeming perfectly at ease in front of his two superiors.

"A job," Draco said, hiding his swallow. "I was wondering if the offer to teach at Hogwarts still stood."

"While being a professor at Hogwarts has it's…merits," Snow chimed in, as if he was Draco's father too, "there are far better positions for you to be at. Posts where I would have better access to you, should I need it."

"Indeed," Voldemort said, his hood bobbing in a nod. "We have Hogwarts, our work there is done. Why waste young talent on a conquest already conquered?"

"I could not agree more," Lucius said.

Draco watched the three men. The three most powerful men in Wizarding Britain. His three worst nightmares, all sitting around and discussing his future like they were his council.

"I think," Snow said, his hands making a steeple in his lap, "you would do well at the Ministry. Your father says your politics are as good as his and you did quite well on your exams. And I find myself in need of a Senior Undersecretary."

Draco closed his eyes for a moment, too quick to be mistaken for anything other than a blink, but really he was secretly wincing. Undersecretary, the position that only has to answer to the Minister and no one else. It was freedom as well as shackles.

Draco would be at the center, the very heart of the corruption. And he had no choice.

_Snape, I'm sorry, _he thought, _but I'm in this deeper than you ever were. I was born into this. _

_God help me. _

The End…

For Now.

…~oOo~…

~ So Long And Thanks For All The Fish ~


	29. Preview of Book Two

A/N. HERE IS A PREVIEW OF **MAP OF OUR RUIN: BOOK TWO**, THE SEQUEL TO** BLACKLISTED. **

Alright, guys, the poll for the title of this story is now up on my profile! Head on over and cast your vote! And I hope you enjoy this Prologue, where we go back in time to the Battle at Hogwarts once more...

…~oOo~…

"_When your time comes to die, be not like those whose hearts are filled with fear of death, so that when their time comes they weep and pray for a little more time to live their lives over again in a different way. Sing your death song, and die like a hero going home."_

~Tecumseh

Prologue: A Hero Going Home

The sky was steel grey, threatening a storm. But even if the heavens fell in a glorious crash, with lighting and thunder, no one among them would notice. They were all riveted, still as statues, as the Dark Lord and his followers emerged from the Forest.

"Harry…" the youngest Weasley whispered, her voice shattering the silence. "_No_! _Harry_!"

Ron caught his little sister in a firm grip around her arms before she could pitch herself towards Harry's body and Voldemort himself. He wrestled her, choking back his own sobs, murmuring over and over, "Stop, Ginny, please stop…" She sobbed hysterically, earning a cackle from Bellatrix Lestrange.

All of the soldiers, Dumbledore's Army, felt the weight of defeat on their shoulders. There weren't enough of them left to go on, and their opponents had too many to even try. It would be suicide. Many of them, Gryffindors ready to go out blazing, would have fought even so. But the older, the wiser, gave them meaningful stares. The professors and the parents would have as many lives saved as possible, even if it meant surrender.

Remus Lupin was tired. Too tired and beaten. He had no more tears to shed, for he'd lost every single one over the body of his wife. He'd held onto her for as long as possible, until he was finally wrenched away at the news of Harry's journey to the Forest.

The love of his life was dead. Never would he wake up next to her. He'd never watch her hair flash bubblegum pink when she got excited like a three-year-old. He'd never watch her rock their son in his nursery again.

The battle all seemed pointless. He'd lost his wife, they'd lost the fight, and they would lose more loved ones now that the Dark Lord was at large.

He was speaking. Giving a speech that made his minions all bright-eyed and manic. He couldn't process all the words. But when he saw the young Hermione, all stained with dirt and blood, crying silently, he put his hand on her shoulder. He remembered her as an eager just-teenager, crazy-haired, teacher's pet. She was so brilliant and that brilliance would be wasted so young.

Voldemort would kill her. That much Remus was sure of. It would bring him sadistic glee to destroy her. She stood for everything he was against. A Muggle-born, a genius one at that, and Harry Potter's best friend on top of it. It was too perfect.

Remus would not let it happen. Not while he watched. Not when he still had that last flicker of fight left in him.

It wasn't because she was like his wife – because she wasn't, she was the complete opposite – or because he was her professor many years before. No, it was because he saw so much of Lily in her, along with plenty of himself. The brilliance, the stubbornness, the penchant for getting into sticky situations. The determination. The belief that above all Good would prevail.

It was happened faster than he thought when the girl was ripped out from under his hand by Greyback. Hermione fought against him wildly while he clutched all of her hair in his paw of a hand, refusing to lie down and take it even though she knew her fate. She kicked viciously, but next to the hulking Greyback she only looked like an angry kitten.

"Hermione Granger…" Voldemort purred while Greyback forced her onto her knees. "You have been a thorn in my side for far too long, dear. You will be the first of the Mudbloods to die."

There wasn't a single sound from among the crowd.

"Any last words?"

It was quiet for a long time before Hermione shook her head. Remus wished he could cry.

But instead, before Voldemort could put his wand to her head, Remus said, "No."

There were a few gasps and shuffles while Remus walked forward calmly. All of the Death Eaters raised their wands, but their master held up his hand and they all put them away. He wanted to heat what Remus had to say.

"Take me instead," Remus said simply, sounding more confident than he felt. "I'm a half-breed, a half-blood. That will have to do, because I won't let you kill that girl. Not while I watch, not while I live."

"No," Hermione said, almost reflexively. Her eyes were wide with horror, shaking her head slowly.

Voldemort seemed to be calculating the trade, watching Hermione's painful reaction, but then he gave a nod. "I accept your sacrifice, half-breed."

"_No_," Hermione gasped, eyes bulging while Remus walked towards her. "No, no, NO! Please, no! Not him! Kill me, please, not him! _He's got a son_!" she sobbed while Remus lifted her with some effort.

"Go back to your friends," Remus said to her under his breath. "Run. As far and as fast as you can. And please…take care of Teddy."

"_No_!" Hermione begged, tears falling rapidly down her face as she clutched onto Remus tightly. He pulled her back to the very front of the masses of people. Arthur Weasley was the one who took hold of her elbow, keeping her back.

When Remus Lupin kneeled willingly before the Dark Lord, accepting his death and execution, he felt oddly at peace. It was the comfort that Hermione would live and that his son would be in good hands.

Remus closed his eyes. It was only a moment.

And it really was faster than falling asleep.

…~oOo~…

~ So Long And Thanks For All The Fish ~


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